


Saudade

by gubbins



Series: All That Is Lost Can Be Found (If You Only Know Where To Look) [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Darth Vader - Dark Lord of the Sith (Comics), Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (actually just one but whatever i wanted to use that tag), Aayla Secura Lives, Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Beru Whitesun, Canon-Typical Violence, Darth Vader Redemption, Emperor Wilhuff Tarkin, Everyone Has A Different Perspective On Pretty Much Everything, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Force-Sensitive Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Jedi as Found Family (Star Wars), M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Self-Hatred, That's Not How The Force Works, and throwing angst and feels around like it's fairy dust, basically this is me AU-ing the hell out of star wars, buckle up it’s a long ride and i barely know how to drive, gratuitous use of em dashes and semi colons, han solo said hell in ESB so that means fuck is a star wars swear word, that moment when you start a long ass series but you're a procrastinator, update schedule? dont know her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubbins/pseuds/gubbins
Summary: There are many crossroads in the universe. Which one we choose to follow can change the course of the next second, minute, hour- or even our whole lives.When Darth Vader finds himself at such an impasse, he makes a choice; a different one than the one you saw. A new one. A lighter one.And it has galaxy-changing repercussions.
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano/Original Female Character(s), Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Asajj Ventress/Quinlan Vos, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Cal Kestis & Trilla Suduri | Second Sister, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Asajj Ventress, Past Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano, Past Padme Amidala/Anakin Skywalker - Relationship, The Force & Anakin Skywalker, Trilla Suduri | Second Sister & Anakin Skywalker
Series: All That Is Lost Can Be Found (If You Only Know Where To Look) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027105
Comments: 138
Kudos: 247
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	1. I Can Almost See You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to what was supposed to be a one shot that became an extensive AU fix it, because... i'm like that. 
> 
> this chapter takes and follows from the second issue of the Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith comics. 
> 
> huge thank you to the lovely [AluminumFoil](URL) for listening to all my random thoughts and giving me your amazing ideas!
> 
> saudade: "a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again."

Vader opens his eyes and falls. He can’t see anything except and an expanse of blackness. His feet carry him off a cliff, into the air, into the sea, into the flames. He isn’t familiar with this place, but he’s glad he isn’t… where he had been before. 

He isn’t sure where that was. He knows his name, _Vader_ , but he knows that it isn’t his true identity. It was like... a badge crudely sewn over the original piece. If the original piece was ripped and broken and frayed beyond recognition, which to Vader it feels like it was. 

Other than his name, his fake-but-it’s-all-he-has-left name, he knows two other things. 

  1. He doesn’t want to go back to wherever he had been (he doesn’t remember what he had been doing, where he had been, who he was) 
  2. He feels light and airy, which is wrong. 



Shouldn’t he be burning? 

It’s an intrusive thought, but it seems true. It’s like knowing how to breathe, or blink. You don’t know how your body does it, how it automatically knows and thinks and _does_ , but it’s there. A baseline for everything else to build upon. 

Vader should be burning, stinging, or in pain at the least. He knows this. But he isn’t. 

He’s _floating_. The blackness goes away, and the world around him is gray, the air dense and foggy. He looks down, and sees he's walking on something that appears to be glass-like. He takes a step, and a resounding _thud_ echoes throughout the area. 

He keeps walking, something in him telling him to keep going. He’s searching for something. Vader walks through the fog, his flesh arms (why did the flesh feel _wrong_?) pushing the air aside. It parts for him, carving a path. At the end, Vader sees a black mass, and though he can’t tell from this distance, he recognizes the shape. His sight is clear, clearer than it had ever been, and the mass looks to be a bare tree.

It calls to him, and Vader walks faster. He starts to run, and the feeling of running is so foreign and exotic, making him feel raw and wild. His feet pound along the glass floor, and the only sounds are his heavy breathing and the echoes of his footsteps. 

Vader reaches his destination, and sees that what he thought was a bare tree is actually one full of life. He stands in front of it, panting hard and trying to catch his breath. He watches as the tree changes.

Its leaves start to turn different shades of red, then they’re falling. Perplexed, Vader just stares at the falling leaves, before going to pick one up. As soon as it’s in his hand, it dissolves. The dust it turned into is golden, and when he opens his hand, it floats into the air instead of going down. 

Vader looks back up at the tree, and realizes it _is_ bare now. The branches sag, rotten and brown. A minute passes. Another. After the third minute, dots of green start to sprout from the branches. Flower buds grow and grow until they bloom. Vader watches, transfixed, as the leaves go to a bright green, then to yellow, to red, until they fall again. Despite not knowing what this place is, or how he got here, Vader feels at peace. 

The cycle repeats itself. Over, and over again. 

“Hello, my child,” a voice whispers into his ear. 

Vader whips around, angry that the calm he’d slipped into has been interrupted. _“Hello?”_ He hisses. 

“You have come at last. I’ve been waiting,” the voice whispers, this time into his other ear. The tone is warm, and inviting. It sounds like many voices Vader once knew (but couldn’t pinpoint, for some reason) being meshed into one. 

“What were you waiting for?” Vader asks suspiciously, turning in circles. “Who are you?” 

“You know who I am, child,” The voice says, and it sounds like it came from the tree this time. Cautiously, Vader turns back to it, and is surprised to see a person emerge from the trunk. 

Their face is blurred, like reflecting on a dream after you’ve already woken up. Vader squints, trying to pinpoint it, but there is no defining feature. It is a face, one nobody would recognize, yet it is familiar all the same. They have translucent hair that flows down to their shoulders, blending with their body, which is the same way. 

“I’ve never met you. How could I know who you are?” 

“You’ve always known me. I am Everything, and you are Something. Something is a part of Everything, and Everything is what creates Something.”

Impatience flares within Vader. “What do you mean?” 

They let out a laugh that sounds like a mixture of a million children’s giggles and sobs. “Why have you come, my child?” 

“I am not your child.” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“No,” he insists gratingly.

“No, I suppose you’re not. You haven’t been for a long time, have you?” The person shakes their head, then approaches. Vader takes a step back, but they keep coming. Vader goes to walk away, trying to distance himself from whoever this is, but as he turns around he is suddenly frozen in place. 

“Do not walk away from me, my son. You have done enough.” Their tone is still warm, but jagged. Like they are covering years of pain with a moment’s happiness.

Suddenly, Vader is turned around, not of his own accord. The world goes black for a second, and then he is standing just a breath away from the tree. All he can do is watch as his hand reaches out, and when it touches the hard bark, he is filled with so many emotions he can't begin to name. 

“Do you see, young one?” Vader turns to look at the person, who is now right next to him. They cock their head, waiting for him to answer. When he doesn’t, they laugh that strange laugh again and place their hand on his shoulder.

“This is life. It rotates, an ongoing circle. It doesn’t wait for anyone. It doesn’t stop. Nobody can change that, not you, not even me.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” His stomach knots, and it feels like he was about to learn something important, but Vader can’t remember _why_. 

He feels ashamed, too. And angry. And impatient and scared and tired and _red_. 

“Life happens. Death happens. But death is not the end, child. It is an opportunity for rebirth as something stronger,” the person says, their voice sounding sad. “Sometimes, the living lose their way. They break. They fall. But they must get back up before they are swallowed by the dirt.” 

Vader’s arms tighten, and he looks down to see that thick, brown roots are coiling around his arms. They pull him down as more and more roots wrap around his body. 

“What are you doing?” He yells, struggling against the plants. Teeth gritted, he says, “ _Who are you_?” 

Instead of answering his question, they say, “You are my child, like the others were. But you’re not my _child_ , not anymore. I suppose that boy is gone.” 

“What do you,” Vader pants, unsuccessfully trying to free his arms, “what do you mean?” 

“You have lost your way. It is your fault, and it's also the fault of so many others. But it is not too late.” 

Against his will, Vader’s eyes close. Memories flash through his mind, and he remembers who he is. What he can do, what he has done. He remembers the screams and cries of children and adults alike, before he ends their lives. He remembers reveling in their pain, watching as life fades from their eyes as his power grows. 

With one final push, Vader rips through the roots, and shakily stands up. He opens his mouth, intending to do something; whether it be yell, scream, _kill_ \- anything at all. But before he can, he is abruptly grabbed by thousands of hands that pull him down. He is dragged into an ocean, and everything fades as he’s tugged to the sea floor. 

He thrashes in the cold depths, struggling to breathe. He remembers liking the water; it’s peaceful and calming, so different from where he grew up. But this is different. It is deep, unforgiving, and Vader can’t survive without air for much longer. 

Before he goes under, he hears a faint whisper. 

“Crawl through the darkness, my child, and you will find the sun.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


This time, his eyes really do open, and Vader is returned to his body. The scars sting as he sits up, but he has become numb to the pain. He still feels it, but it doesn’t bother him anymore. 

Rather, it fuels him. 

He can’t remember what just happened, but it left him feeling irritated, to say the least. His arms feel sore, for some reason, and his legs… tired? Like he had been running for a long time and had barely stopped to take a breath. But he hadn’t been running. It was impossible. 

_Thanks to Kenobi_ , Vader thinks. The red-hot Darkness smiles within him, propelling him into motion. Someday, he will track down that traitor and make him _suffer_ , as Vader had. 

_His flesh burns. His limbs are gone, and Vader is in shock as he attempts to crawl up the bank. Obi-Wan is yelling, his voice sounding tortured. Vader can’t make out the words, but they make something in him snap. Vader will RUIN this galaxy, make it break, break, BREAK BREAK BREAK-_

_“I HATE YOU!” Vader roars. Obi-Wan replies, but Vader doesn’t hear._

_He screams in agony as the flames start to trail up his body, his hair and skin melting away in the heat. Through the fire, he sees Obi-Wan turn away._

_He left Vader here. Obi-Wan left Vader here. He left Vader here to die. Die. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. His fault. His fault. Vader’s fault. Obi-Wan’s fault. Fault. Blame. Death. Kill. Pain._

_So much pain._

_He might die here. But he will rise from the ashes._

_And they will pay._

He walks to the front of the small ship, where his communicator beeps with an incoming call. As he walks, he thinks of the last few days. The duel on Al’doleem, where he took that Jedi Infil’a’s lightsaber. 

He’s going to make it bleed, as his Master commanded. Palpatine has been Vader’s Master for only a few months now, but he has already made Vader more powerful than ever before. 

The Jedi held him back. The Emperor makes him strong. 

Vader fears Palpatine. Hates him, too. But it doesn’t matter when Vader is _invincible_. He answers the holocall, and is met with the deformed face of his new Master. 

Palpatine commands Vader to go to Mustafar, where there is a host of Darkness that will make it easier to bleed the crystal. 

_Mustafar._ Of course it’s Mustafar. What better way to harness his anger than at the planet that frequents his nightmares most often. 

“Here you will reclaim yourself. From the site of your greatest defeat, you shall rise- strong, unbroken, powerful.” 

Vader looks on, listening to his Master as the ship starts its descent into the flames. This place has an energy that pushes down on him, threatening to suffocate him. He is reminded of that day, just months ago but feels _so long ago_ , when he screamed and burned and truly turned into a monster. 

The day he lost everything but gained _something_. 

Darth Vader is powerful, and one day he will bring this galaxy to its knees. 

He focuses his attention back on his Master, whose hunched form is still monologuing. “You have acquired the lightsaber of a jedi, and the kyber crystal it contains… but they are not yet yours.” 

The ship keeps flying. The Darkness spreads. 

“The crystal is a potent thing, alive in some strange way, pulsing with light side energy. You will need great strength to bend it to your will. When you arrive on Mustafar, find the place where the dark side calls to you. Draw upon the energy there- combine its power with your own. Then, use it,” Palpatine commands. 

“Corrupt the kyber crystal. Teach it your pain. Teach it your anger. Hear it sing a hymn of darkness. Make it bleed.” 

Vader will do just that. He has a surplus of anger, and he will use it. 

* * *

  
  


The writing on the cave walls is ancient. The paint is cracking, rendering some of the old symbols incomplete. 

They must be Sith, carved long ago. This whole cave radiates with ancient, powerful Darkness, and as Vader walks through it, they wrap around him and call out for him. 

_Chosen one, chosen one, look at how you’ve burned_ , they whisper. 

_Did you kill that traitor for what he did?_

_No, you didn’t, because you’re not strong enough._

He remembers thinking those same words while kneeling in the sand, gripping it in his fists as he wished for his mother… wishing that his last memories of her weren’t seeing her bleeding cheeks, her lifeless eyes, shakily waiting as that last bit of warmth left her hand…. 

_We can make you powerful._

Vader keeps walking. The Darkness trails after him, and he lets it in. When he reaches the end of the cave, he kneels in front of a round, table-like thing and places the dead Jedi’s weapon on it. 

_Weak-minded fool, as all Jedi are._

He was a Jedi once. But not a very good one. His whole time there, he was just shy of perfection. They never believed in him, never saw how _great_ he could be if they let him. Vader remembers their sharp words as they looked him over, thinly veiled lectures that pierced him to the bone. 

They didn’t see his true power. But he showed them, didn’t he? 

_He watches Mace Windu fall out of that window, and hears his screams as he dropped. Anakin feels terror pool in his stomach, but a part of him, a deep part of him that's clawing its way to the surface, is bubbling over with pride._

He opens up the lightsaber, cybernetic hand raised in the air. Through his red lenses, he sees the tinted glow of the green crystal. It pulses, its glow a bit dimmed as the Darkness pushes down on it forcefully. 

Vader watches as it floats in the air, oblivious to his intentions. As he makes to corrupt it, make it _bleed_ , a bright light fills the cave. It grows and grows, the light becoming blinding, even through his lenses. The stale cave air swirls around him, and the Force sounds like it’s shouting with joy and pain. 

He’s thrown against the wall, metal limbs landing clunkily. The world seems… tinted, now, just a little brighter, a little foggier. He sees… so much. Vader is transported to another time, another life, and watches through his eyes ( _Anakin’s eyes_ ) as he kills Palpatine, finds Kenobi ( _Obi-Wan_ ) and begs for forgiveness, and things are alright. 

Vader isn’t sure what he just saw, but he knows it could happen. Maybe, maybe, if he just _listened_ for once. Could he really do that? 

Vader thinks of Padmé, of Obi-Wan, of their heartbroken eyes as they saw what he did, and makes his choice. 

He blinks a few times, trying to collect his bearings. After a moment, he notices his right lens is cracked. For the first time in months since the Empire’s creation, he sees colors as they truly are. He surveys the earth tones of the cave, and realizes just how much he hated that vile red tint. It reminded him of blood. 

He’s seen so much blood. 

Vader, or Anakin, he’s not sure, stands up on wobbly prosthetic and walks over to the crystal. It’s on the table now, lying in wait. He takes a second to appreciate its bright green hue, bringing a bit of life to this cave. 

It’s so similar to Ahsoka’s color. His beloved apprentice…

 _Green._ The color of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, who’s final wish was to see Anakin trained. 

_Green._ The color of Ahsoka’s lightsaber, who had gone to Mandalore with so much hope that one day, they would be properly reunited. 

_Green._ The color of Naboo, where Padmé once ruled, a small piece of harmony in a chaotic universe. 

_Green_. The color that belonged to so many Padawans and Knights who were murdered while trying to defend their home. 

A color that would have belonged to so many younglings, but they didn’t get the chance, because Anakin _killed them where they stood._ Their hopeful eyes widening as he cut through them, because _they didn’t run_ \- 

( _“What?! Jedi don’t run!_ ”) 

They didn’t run from him, because that was Master Skywalker, the Chosen One, the one who would save them, _should’ve_ saved them. 

But instead, he was their doom. 

Anakin, or Vader, - _everything’s blurred now,_ he doesn’t know who he is, because Anakin is dead and gone but Vader is a monster and he’s not sure who to hate and _Obi-Wan why did you leave_ \- looks down at his hands in horror. 

He sees phantom blood caking them, the sticky maroon substance running over his fingers, and he can’t make sense of anything. His eyes blur and he can’t figure out how to breathe- how could he do those things, those horrible things… but they had seemed so justified at the time… 

Tears form in his eyes, tears he didn’t know he had, and he feels them drip down his face. His exposed eye blinks rapidly in the dense cave air, and he rocks back and forth, trying to make sense of everything that’s exploding inside him. 

He knows what he must do. It won’t fix anything, because this feels so beyond fixing; but it’s a start. 

* * *

  
  
  


His nerves start to build as he approaches Coruscant. This whole thing feels like a whirlwind, and everything is still a little… hazy, but he brushes it off. This is what he has to do. He can’t… he can’t just get rid of his atrocities, or begin to make up for them… but if he can do this one thing, maybe things will be just a bit better for the galaxy. 

He’s not even sure he _can_ do it. Kill Palpatine? It seems impossible. But then again, everything about his existence should be impossible, so maybe sometimes… reality makes exceptions. 

The Force trills warmly in his ear, and he feels like an arm is being wrapped around him. _Yes, my son, it does._

“So that was you before?” He asks aloud, thinking of that strange dream ( _vision?_ ) from earlier. 

_That was… one of me. After all, I am Everything, and Everything has different forms._

“Ah, of course,” He says, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this, being able to speak so fondly and easily. He’s glad he has the chance, that someone is willing to talk to him even now, before he does something that honestly seems insane. “That’s so specific. Definitely not vague.” 

The sarcasm sounds strange through the vocoder, but he’ll take anything. 

_Don’t sass your parent._

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

_You dream of many things, child. I have seen them._

He swallows, memories flashing unwantedly through his mind. So many visions, dreams, nightmares; it’s easier to push them away. 

_You are not alone._

“I am.” 

_You’re not._

And for a second, he believes that, and wishes more than anything that it’s really true. Anakin had never wanted to be alone, and now… 

It’s his fault that he is. 

The ship docks, and Anakin exits, striding purposefully towards the entrance of the Imperial Executive Building. He’s going to end this.

_Once, he would be walking into these doors to visit those he loved. His wife, perhaps, or his friend. Or rather, someone he believed to be a friend but turned out to be the greatest evil in the galaxy._

Bitterly, Anakin thinks of that horrible day, when the truth was revealed and he made the worst decision of his life. He shakes the thoughts away, knowing that only a clear head will ensure his survival. 

Rage might give someone power, but it also blinds them. Anakin would not let himself be so unthinking this time. Palpatine would get what he deserved, Anakin would make sure of it.

_I am proud of you, my son._

“No, you’re not,” he whispers back as he walks the dark halls. “Nobody could be proud of me.” 

_I am proud of you for this moment. I cannot forgive you. Not yet. But you are making the right choice._

Anakin thinks it’s the first right choice he’s made in a long time. He makes his way to Palpatine’s office, thinking of… well, everything. He’s made so many wrong choices in this building, that office. 

The door slides open for him as it always does, and Anakin determinedly walks in. His shields are strong, in spite of everything. He just needs to keep them that way. 

Anakin looks out the windows, memories flashing before him. Cutting off Windu’s arm, sending him flying towards the skyline below, just before he…

Bile rises in Anakin’s throat, and he looks at the desk where Palpatine sits. That rotten, vile man, who had taken so much from him…

_(_ _Anakin doesn’t think about it being his choice._

_He can’t…_

_No._

_He…_

_No)_

“My apprentice,” Palpatine’s grating voice interrupts Anakin’s flashbacks. “You have returned. Were you successful in your quest?” 

Anakin tilts his head threateningly. For a second, his mind goes to a different time, in a starfighter over Coruscant. Flying with his master who later burned him, his men who later _helped_ him, in the middle of a war that made no sense to anyone. 

_This is where the fun begins._

“I was,” Vader says slowly. He draws the green blade he stole from Master Infil’a, who he killed on Al’doleem only a few days ago. He plans to honor the fallen Master now, by using his lightsaber to end Palpatine’s rule. 

Palpatine’s yellow, bloodshot eyes narrow as he pulls out his own weapon. The red of Palpatine’s lightsaber casts a crimson glow over his black robes, making him look even more menacing. 

“So be it, my friend.” 

Their blades crash together, sparks flying as the two Sith (or in-between, as Anakin starts to think of himself) engage. Palpatine snarls, pressing down on Anakin. His prosthetic legs, which he’s cursing right about now, wobble a bit but hold strong. 

As they fight, Palpatine lets out more insults, hoping to distract Anakin and anger him. 

“So you have chosen weakness.” 

Anakin’s lightsaber collides with Palaptine’s again, and Anakin takes this moment to survey his master. His face is deformed almost beyond recognition, his hands gnarled with age. His eyes glow with hatred, the red veins in them making the yellow stand out even more. He’s the one who looks weak. 

Anakin _hates_ this man. The one he should’ve been hating all along. 

“So be it,” Anakin says, and he means it, because if weakness means trying to atone for your mistakes, then that’s something he’ll have to live with. 

Palpatine smiles, and it looks so cruel and out of place Anakin recoils a bit. “Such a waste,” He says nonchalantly. Palpatine can play it off all he wants, but Anakin knows how much this must sting; he wasn’t counting on Anakin turning sides. 

Anakin is more powerful than Palpatine, at least in the Force. He’s not at his full strength, due to his extensive injuries from that tra- _Kenobi_ , but he’s still strong. He’ll have to figure out a way to beat Palpatine, cybernetics and all. Palpatine is tired. Anakin sees it, and strikes. He slices through his master, who lets out a pathetic groan before collapsing. Anakin looks down at the crumpled body, nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“Yes, I agree,” He says, voice sounding indifferent and much too deep through the vocoder. 

Seconds later, the hysteria sets in. Out of nowhere, a numb, uncontrollable laugh bubbles up in Anakin. He goes to run an exhausted hand through his hair, then stops. Oh. Right. 

He forgot. There’s nothing there but the sleek surface of his helmet. 

Anakin looks down again, realizing what he’s just done. He killed the Emperor. The ruler of the whole galaxy. He… he needs to leave, now. He doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if he’s caught. 

So he exits the office as he crushes the security cameras with the Force, which feels lighter now, less heavy. 

He does, too. Just a bit.

* * *

  
  


Anakin climbs into a smaller ship, taking nothing but the lightsaber and some credits. He’s already noticeable enough with the suit, there’s no need to bring a ton of things. Besides, it’s not like he needs much to survive anymore. 

He has no long term plan, but he knows one place he’d like to go first. He sets the coordinates in the navicomputer, staring up at the sky as he takes off. 

The last thing he sees is the 500 Republica Building, and then he’s gone, swept up in the stars towards a place that holds so much of his heart. 

_Naboo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strap yourselves in, it's gonna be a wild ride
> 
> tumblr is @ayo-cowbelly, say hi if you want!


	2. Her in Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple of things: 
> 
> one, i've updated the tags- i've added a character today, and it does connect to this chapter (i just AU'd where this person ended up after order 66) so... do with that what you will ;) 
> 
> secondly, just for reference (though this is in the text) this chapter takes place about ten months after ROTS/the creation of the empire. 
> 
> lastly: Warning for mentions of torture at the end. once it says "day 10" that's where it starts going into it- nothing super descriptive, but thought i'd put in a warning in case that's not something you're comfortable with.
> 
> (this chapter has been edited to include the bail pov.)

Naboo has always been beautiful. It’s one of those places that will remain unsullied no matter what. It will always be calm and welcoming, and its people even more so. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that Naboo looks… lifeless compared to the last time Anakin was here. The streets are less crowded, and a thin film of dust has settled on some buildings. The markets, once bustling with people, are mostly empty. Some lanterns are strung here and there, but the only posters and other decorations to be found depict either Palpatine, the Planetary Governor. In some, there's Anakin himself, dressed in the obnoxious black suit. 

He takes the side alleys and stays out of sight, hoping nobody sees him. He also employs use of the Force Blank ability, making him a void in the Force. Anyone who sees him won’t remember what he looked like afterwards. He would have preferred to use a Force Cloak, but he remembers from his… _Jedi_ teachings that that ability is only for strong Light-side users. Anakin isn’t that anymore. 

As he walks, Anakin is surprised at how depressing Naboo has become in only months of the Empire’s reign. Its economy is strong, and there haven’t been any sort of rebellions- yet it’s just, well, _dull_. Nothing like how it was the last time Anakin was here, during the war. 

He walks by the busiest market in Theed- the only one that has the same size crowd as it did before. People bustle around, children running around the stalls. 

Anakin keeps going, only having one place he needs to see. He’s heard about it, of course, but he’s never been. He couldn’t bear it before. It will be painful, he knows this. But he owes it to her. 

To Padmé. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


After what feels like an eternity of walking and ducking in alley after alley, Anakin reaches the entrance to her tomb. It’s nestled in some trees, bringing beauty to a place of death. Outside, there is a large statue of a young Padmé, in her royal finery from her time as queen. Anakin looks up at it, and thinks of how it looks _so much_ like her, but doesn’t compare to her beauty in life. 

She was a queen, an angel. 

He walks inside, feeling a heaviness in his heart as he looks at the stone walls. She always liked to be outside, in the meadows or watching the sunset. Now, she lay here, buried in a stone tomb, never seeing the sky again. 

In the Mausoleum, there’s more light than the rest of the tomb. A stained glass window casts color onto… 

_Oh._

_There._

_There she is._

_She’s here._

_But she’s not._

Her sarcophagus. On it, there is the emblem of Naboo. He looks back at the stained glass window. On each side of it, there is a tall stone column with pots of red flowers in full bloom. The window has a soft-colored image of Padmé, wearing a pastel blue dress and flowers coiling around her. She’s smiling, and Anakin remembers thinking he’d never see that smile again. 

He won’t. Like the statue, this image pales in comparison to Padmé. He takes a ragged breath, placing a hand on the stone. His heart aches so painfully, because this is _Padmé’s grave,_ she’s laying there right under his hand, dead and gone. She wasn’t supposed to die. She wasn’t supposed to leave him. 

She wasn’t supposed to hate him. 

Anakin remembers the last words she said to him, and he hates himself for what he did. Because he had wanted to make her _see_ , and she didn’t, and he hurt her, didn’t he? He killed her. He had been so blind and full of rage, he didn’t see how Padmé was suffering because of him. And Anakin wants so badly to go back to that night, because maybe if he wasn’t so _stupid_ she would still be here, instead of buried in a tomb- 

It’s his fault. All his fault. 

And Anakin feels so destroyed, because this was _Padmé_ , the one person who could calm him no matter what, who was a tether in the storm of his life. The one person who meant _everything_ to him, and he knows she shouldn’t have, but she did and she always will. 

He traces his hand over the emblem. He opens his mouth, wanting to speak, but there’s no words to say. How can he apologize to her? Would she even hear him? Anakin looks back at the image of her in the window, and he’s gasping for breath, the room spins and he has to close his eyes because there’s no way he can bear to look at this for much longer- 

The Force is whispering in his ear, but he can’t make sense of what it’s saying, and he collapses onto his knees. His shields are cracking, the weight of his spiraling emotions too heavy for them. He scrunches his eyes closed, leaning on Padmé’s sarcophagus for support. This is the closest he’s been to hear in _so long_. 

Anakin wants to pretend that it’s like before, just the two of them in her apartment living on stolen time. Him coming home from a long siege, and her waiting for him after a long day of working in the Senate. 

He would lean on her, and she on him, and for a moment they were nothing but husband and wife, the two roles they never got a real chance to play. 

( _“We live in a real world. Come back to it.”_ ) 

What kind of world is this? One where he’s nothing more than a shell, reminiscing on the time he had everything he loved and was loved in return? Anakin stands up, looking back down at Padmé’s sarcophagus. “I’m-” He starts, but chokes and takes a painful breath before trying again. 

“I’m so, so _sorry_ , Angel,” He says, and it sounds twisted and jagged coming from the vocoder. He doesn’t deserve to call her ‘Angel’ anymore. He doesn’t deserve to even be here, pretending he’s really talking to her. He doesn’t deserve anything. 

Even so, he can’t find the strength to stop, even though the words are stuttered instead of spoken. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to, I didn’t- I didn’t _know_ \- I wanted to help, I really did, and I made mistakes and I’m sorry- and now you’re gone, and the baby too, and I just wish you were here, Padmé, I miss you- I’m so _sorry_ -” His voice breaks, and he chokes on a sob. Tears are cascading from his eyes, and his breathing is coming out in irregular patterns through the helmet. 

It all sounds so wrong through the suit, just like everything else, because everything is so, so _wrong_ now- and he shouldn’t have come here, it was a mistake- 

“I didn’t- I don’t deserve you, Angel, I know that- but, I… I love you, Padmé, I love you, and I miss you, and one day I’m going to- I’ll see you again, I think, and I just- I just hope that one day, you’ll forgive me.” 

With any strength he has left, he removes his hand from the stone and prepares to leave. Reaching out the Force, he looks for comfort in its expanse. A feeling of calm washes over him. It feels like he’s being submerged in cold water after standing out in the sun for too long, and he welcomes it. 

* * *

Padmé Amidala was a great ally to have in the Senate; she was fierce, loyal, and would go to great lengths to help those who were in need of it. She was kind, and stood her ground. And above all, she was Bail Organa’s friend. 

One of his closest friends, in fact. At times, she had felt akin to a cousin of sorts, like they were a strange little family in the arena of politics. They often saw eye to eye during many debates, reinforcing the other’s stance. As the war dragged on and the air grew strained, they continued to support each other, something that was sorely welcomed- the war saw many former allies going at each other's throats. 

They even shared a growing mutual distrust of Palpatine. Bail and Padmé had noticed he made no move to give up or at least wane his emergency powers, and made decisions that surely, he knew would not look good in the eyes of the Republic’s citizens.

(A mutual distrust that would soon be proven to have a base in truth.) 

It’s been almost ten months since Padmé died. As Bail walks towards her tomb, his mind drifts to that night. When they had made contact with Obi-Wan, only to discover the grave truth: Padmé was pregnant (with twins, they later found), and losing strength by the minute. 

Bail remembers his friend’s screams as she gave birth, his heart going out to her. He didn’t know what, exactly, had caused her health to suddenly take a turn, but he could only watch as her eyes faded. And his heart hurt so greatly, at that moment, because she had always been so strong and kind, fierce until the end. This woman who had become one of his greatest friends was just… gone. 

_ Padmé. Dead.  _ It didn’t feel real. Bail always imagined that in some strange way, Padmé would outlive them all.

(Maybe she would, through her legacy; through rebellion.)

He enters the tomb, shadows curling around his shoulders. It’s no less cold than the first time Bail visited, only mere weeks after she died. After the Empire formed, and everything they had once stood for was hidden away. Buried, under lies and injustice. 

He remembers Obi-Wan, holding both of the children in his arms, robotically telling Bail and Yoda what happened on Mustafar. Now, Bail and Obi-Wan had never been great friends- it was surprising, at first, how the Jedi had laid out such a painful story when Bail felt they weren’t close enough to share such things. 

But Obi-Wan had looked so drained, and was clearly trying to cover up the cracks making their way through him. He looked partly in shock, partly resigned to it all, both making him look almost ten times older than he was. 

It was Skywalker who did it. Skywalker, who had led the clones on the Temple, assisted Palpatine, all of it. When Obi-Wan told them of his mad ravings on Mustafar, his sudden disregard for Padmé, Bail couldn’t believe it at first. 

He suspected (and likely wasn’t the only one) that something  _ more  _ had transpired between his friend and the Jedi Knight. He thought they loved each other. And no matter what Obi-Wan and Yoda said of the dark side, how it twists minds and corrupts hearts, Bail had felt no sorrow for whatever had happened to Anakin Skywalker. 

He didn’t truly understand the Force (or Jedi, for that matter), but he felt no sorrow for someone who could- who could  _ choke  _ the mother of their children. Someone who Bail had seen, on multiple occasions, look at said mother like she hung the stars. 

And when Darth Vader appeared, a towering menace of all-black and mechanical breaths, Bail knew right away who it was. 

Anakin Skywalker, whoever he had once been, was gone. Darth Vader stood in his place, a monster, a fist for the Emperor; the person who had assisted in bringing the galaxy to its knees at Palpatine’s feet. 

The person who enforced the destruction of Padmé’s beliefs, her Republic that she never truly stopped believing in. The person who, in Bail’s eyes, was responsible for the death of his truest friend. And that could not be forgiven. 

He turns into the tomb, preparing to tell Padmé’s grave of the sudden death of Palpatine (and he was not a morbid person- Bail knew to respect the dead- yet a hidden part of him thought that if Padmé were here, she would not shed one tear for the death of the Emperor). 

But a muffled, distorted voice caught his attention. There, in front of the grave, was a large mass of pure black. Bail felt a prickly feeling shoot up his spine, immediately going on guard. 

Vader was here. 

A voice, jarring and suspicious, cuts into the room. 

“Lord Vader?” 

He knows that voice. _Bail Organa._

Bail is looking at him with a face of barely-concealed anger, at least for a Senator. His face is passive, but his eyes are storming with hate. So much so, that Anakin is caught off-guard. 

He’s met with Bail since the Empire’s formation before, and it’s widely-known that Bail and pretty much all of Alderaan don’t exactly love the Empire. But Bail was still always polite, if a bit cold. 

He’s never been _angry._ At least, not to Anakin’s face. 

Anakin steps away from the sarcophagus, rebuilding his shields as he moves. “Senator Organa.” 

Bail raises an eyebrow. “You killed Palpatine.” _Palpatine, not “the Emperor”._

“I did.” 

Bail looks over at the stained glass window, eyes trailing sadly over the image of Padmé. Sighing, he says, “Why?” 

Anakin’s not exactly sure. Just that one moment, he was _Vader_ , and the next he was about to throw up in self-loathing and disgust. Vader, Anakin, is a monster- but Palpatine was worse. He knows that for certain. “It was the right thing to do.” 

“Pardon me, Lord Vader,” Bail says, and Anakin hates the way that name rolls off the tongue, slimy and wicked. But Anakin knows he doesn’t want anyone connecting him to Vader. If people knew… “but what would you know about doing the right thing?” 

Bail looks Anakin up and down, that anger still present, but more masked. Being a politician, Bail has sturdy shields in place, so Anakin can’t get a read on him- other than his obvious suspicion. 

Anakin, still feeling off-balanced, stumbles over his words. “What are you implying-”

“I'm saying that I don't trust your intentions here,” Bail interrupts. And the way he speaks, full of pain and anger, eyes flitting to Padmé’s picture; Anakin can’t help but wonder. 

_Does he know?_ No. That’s impossible. The only ones who did were Kenobi and Padmé. 

Assuming a stony expression (well, under the helmet at least), Anakin lifts his chin. His exposed eye is locked on Bail. “You have no love for Palpatine. I killed him for you.” 

“Yes, but you killed many others. You _murdered_ innocent people who did nothing wrong. You helped bring down our democracy." 

Anakin feels a flash surprise and resentment. He moves forward. The tension in the air hangs heavily over him and Bail. “If you’re talking about the Jedi, Senator-” 

Bail, ever courageous, holds his ground. “The Jedi and more. You may have disposed of Palpatine, but you are a murderer. And I refuse to let you tarnish my dear friend’s tomb.” 

“What are you planning on doing, _Senator_?” Anakin says in disdain. 

Bail, eyes trained on Anakin’s every move, lifts a hand to his lips. His comm is held tight, turned on and blinking bright green. Slowly, he utters, “I need five squads here immediately. I’ve caught Lord Vader.” 

Anakin’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back. He stands in shock for a second, and suddenly the sound of pounding fills the stone room. The Stormtroopers approach, closer and closer, until their white armor stands out against the gray walls. 

He feels boxed in. There’s nowhere to go, as the troopers are blocking the only entrance. Anakin turns in circles, and Shock Troopers are approaching him, blasters trained on him threateningly. He tries to walk back, until his back collides with Padmé’s sarcophagus. 

A man is with them- Quarsh Panaka, the Planetary Governor that the Empire instated. 

He sneers at Anakin. Haughtily, he declares, “You are under arrest, Vader. You are guilty of treason and murder of our Emperor.” 

Without thinking, Anakin replies. “You mean I rid the galaxy of that vile freak.” 

Panaka rears up at Anakin, scowling. “Drop your weapon, and no harm will come to you.” 

Anakin knows that’s a lie. It’s one he’s told himself, before prisoners are taken away and likely never seen again. 

He could just kill them all. 

_What would Padmé think of that?_ The Force whispers. 

_She’d hate me_ , Anakin thinks. She did when she died, for doing the same thing. 

But there’s no other option. Either he kills them all, and makes himself feel even worse, or let himself be taken and hidden away, likely to be starved and tortured; that’s what they do to high-profile prisoners (he’s even helped, sometimes). Anakin takes a shaky breath, coming out jagged through the damaged helmet. 

“Drop your weapon, Vader,” Panaka commands. Every blaster in the room is pointed at Anakin, and he meets Bail’s eyes, which are stony. 

Anakin lightly trails his fingers over Master Infil’a’s lightsaber, and the shock troopers press even closer. They won’t do anything, needing to keep him alive- and they’re likely fearful of setting him off; but it’s a warning all the same. 

Anakin glances towards the image of Padmé, smiling and at peace, and he closes his eyes. 

_I love you, Padmé,_ he thinks, both a vow and a prayer. For what, he’s not sure; whether he lives or dies, perhaps? If he had to choose between the two, he’s truly not sure what he would decide. Maybe death. At least in death, he’d get to see her again. And possibly Ahsoka. He could apologize to them. Even if they didn’t forgive him, seeing them again would be enough. 

But that’s too much of a gift for him. He deserves to live with this, with everything he’s done. Everything he can’t stop himself from doing. 

The Force wraps around him. _You are not so far gone, my son._

 _But I am. I am and it’s all my fault._ Eyes still closed, he drops the stolen lightsaber on the ground. 

He stands still as the Shock Troopers put him in Force-suppressing handcuffs. 

Just before they snap closed, Anakin sends one last thought. _Will you tell them I’m sorry?_

There’s no reply, because the cuffs close and Anakin feels red-hot pain shoot down his spine. The Force is ripped away from him, sharply and without warning. It feels like something is being carved out of him, 

Anakin’s literally half-Force. To have it cut off like this… 

He droops immediately, lacking strength to stand at his full height. _It hurts, it hurts, help me…_

But there’s nobody to help him. He’s alone. And if he wasn’t, who would still care enough about him to help? 

* * *

Bail wonders, seconds after, if he did the right thing. 

But he knows he did.

Vader was nothing but a threat to Bail's efforts for a better galaxy, a puppet the Empire threw around the galaxy, bringing planets down through flames and death. He did not want such a person tarnishing Padmé's memory, the memory he (and others) were trying to preserve, to fight for.

Bail doesn't know why Vader was at her grave, but he supposes it doesn't matter now.

* * *

  
  


**Day 10**

Anakin hates this place.

He’s been stripped of his armor, leaving him just with prosthetics and thin underclothes. The only part of the suit he has left is the respirator, which gives him enough life to cling to while they torture him. 

They’ve taken him to the Citadel, and even though it’s remodeled, he still recognized it and was hit with a bombardment of emotion when he arrived. The lava around the prison triggered something in him, and he was eventually knocked out by the guards. 

They woke him up to escort him to his cell, wanting him to see the other prisoners as he walked by. Just to show how cruel they are before they lock him up too. 

He’s been locked in a cell far away from the others, save for about four other rooms reserved for the worst offenders.

The door is too thick for any lightsaber to cut through, and ray-shielded. If Anakin remembers correctly, it’s also electrified when a certain button is pushed. There’s no window revealing what’s inside, except for a tiny sliver at around head-height for someone to peak in. 

Inside, the room is nothing special. Four plain, dark gray walls surround him, boring and suffocating. 

He spends his days sitting up against the wall, waiting for them to come back and beat him again. Or whip him. Or jeer at and interrogate him until his mind is mush from all the information he can’t make sense of. 

He’s starting to regret not killing everyone and running. 

* * *

**Day 30**

How long has he been here? A month? He’s not sure. It’s starting to blur together, but he tries to organize the days by using a small shard of the cuffs that he chipped off, back when he had hands. He carves a little notation every time he wakes up (but he’s not sure if he’s actually sleeping the whole night- or even at night at all. He lost track of time a while ago). 

They’ve taken his prosthetics, leaving him a bloody, scarred pulp on the floor. They don’t even bother chaining him up, or cuffing him, or anything like that- what’s the point, when he can’t even move? 

He stares at the ceiling, tears slipping out of his dry, bloodshot eyes. The only thing he has for a sliver of entertainment is his memories. 

There’s one that keeps surfacing, one he’s longed to forget ever since it happened. 

_“Obi-Wan… told me terrible things…” She pants, worn out from the stress of the last few days._

_“What things?” He asks, coldly and without emotion, a way he’s never spoken to her before._

_She looks up at him, full of worry, her normally-strong eyes full of fear. Not of him, but what was to come._

_He would later wonder if she should have feared him then. Maybe, if she had, she would still be alive._

_“He said…” And she pauses, because the very notion seems so impossible. It has to be impossible, it had to be; she knows him like she knows the back of her hand. She knows every line, every crevice, every crack in his soul- but she knows he is too strong to let those cracks grow enough to break him._

_Wasn’t he?_

_“He said… you have turned to the Dark side… that you killed younglings.” Her eyes search him, imploring him to tell her it wasn’t true, because even though Obi-Wan sounded so sad and resigned saying it, like he had fought it for so long there was no other choice than to accept it, it has to be a sick joke._

_She will soon find out it was far from a joke._

He’s in pain. So much _pain_. 

  
  


* * *

**Day 60-ish (it’s all a blur now)**

He’s hungry, oh so hungry. Eventually, he remembered a technique he used during his time as a slave on Tatooine. He remembered how to be numb to whipping, to the lashings. He also reaches out to the Force for help. 

They’re starving him. 

They know he can’t eat, at least not solid foods. So that’s exactly what they serve him. Every day, they throw it at him, laughing as it hits his motionless lump of a body. 

Later on, someone will come in and inject him with nutrients, just enough so he lives to see the next day. They keep him alive so he can suffer. 

And suffer he does. 

Besides the starvation, they prod at his scars (scars _Kenobi_ gave him) and electrocute him. They beat him, stopping just when he’s about to slip into unconsciousness, a blessed break from this hell. 

He hates them, and this prison, and this entire galaxy. He hates the memories that keep resurfacing, not leaving him alone to at least rot in peace. 

But most of all, he hates himself.

  
  


* * *

**Are there even days anymore?**

A clatter outside. A shout. A wicked-sounding slap, then a body hitting the floor. 

The sounds echo throughout this little corner of the prison, making Anakin turn his heavy head towards the door. 

Through bleary eyes, he blinks, straining to catch the words outside the door. 

“Why is this one so important anyway?” An annoyed voice says. Though the walls are thick, Anakin can hear perfectly outside. He’s not sure how they engineered that, but he thinks it’s so the guards can taunt him without actually having to be near him. 

“Don’t know. All I heard was that they go up here,” a second person replies. 

“With the Sith guy?” 

“Yeah,” the second person grunts, sounding like they’re carrying a heavy weight. For all Anakin knew, he was the only prisoner in this part of the prison- is someone else joining him? “Just said this one should be kept up there, and to use the stick on him from time to time.” 

Anakin empathizes with this new prisoner already. ‘The stick’ is a crude reference for the electro-shock prod, which the guards love to use on the prisoners. 

The Empire just had to go with the sickest, most foul people to guard their prisons. 

“Hang on,” the first voice says. “Is this a _clone_?” 

“Wait. Let me look.” A pause. “I think you’re right. Looks all funny, though. Wonder what these metal things are for.” 

“The clones were a lot more tan, I think. This one’s all pale. Weird.” 

“Yeah,” the second person laughs. “And he’ll be even paler once we get to him!” 

The two snicker and keep walking. 

Meanwhile, Anakin is left in wonder. _A clone… pale. Metal things. Funny-looking…_

With a jolt, Anakin realizes who it must be. _Echo._

_Echo’s here._

Sympathy courses through Anakin, wishing Echo didn’t have to be in this place. Anakin didn’t know what his old friend had done, but he didn’t deserve this fate. Nobody did. 

Except maybe Anakin. 

Staring up at the ceiling, Anakin taps into the Force. 

Gingerly, it settles around him, and he can hear the apology through its movements. 

“Don’t apologize. I deserve this,” He says, his voice strained and grating through the respirator. 

The Force doesn’t reply, just soothingly wraps around him, numbing his numerous wounds as much as it can. 

After a moment, Anakin asks, “Was that Echo, out there?” 

A beat. Then, a small whisper in his mind. 

_It was._

Anakin lets that sink in. 

  
  


* * *

**There is no day anymore, he’s sure of it**

A flicker of something, _someone_ , in the Force moves past his cell. 

It’s buried, probably due to Force-suppressing handcuffs- but it’s there. From what Anakin can gather, it feels like… like a lake. Deep, and peaceful; not as small as a pond but not as overwhelming as an ocean. It’s almost familiar. 

The snuffed presence keeps moving, eventually settling in the cell right next to him. 

Though they likely can’t feel him, he prods the presence, searching. In the lake, he feels the underlying presence of plants, for lack of a better word. Little snippets of wisdom, strength, and humor. 

But they seem wilted, somehow. Like they’ve been stomped all over and ripped from their roots. 

Covered in Darkness. Not from Falling, but just the heavy presence of the Dark side in the Force was enough to tear them up. Without the balance of the Jedi, the Darkness seems to have engulfed this person and left them with no escape. 

_Jedi._

Again, this person… they seem familiar. Is it a survivor? One he once knew?

Anakin’s not sure what to make of that, exactly. 

Maybe it’s a good thing. He feels like it should be a good thing. 

Even though this person, this maybe-Jedi can’t sense him back, Anakin reaches out to them; a call, letting them know that they’re not alone. 

_They’re not alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bail: i saw you hangin out with padme's corpse the other day
> 
> anakin: bail! it's- it's not what you think!
> 
> bail: i won't hesitate, bitch *comms the empire*
> 
> tumblr is @ayo-cowbelly, come say hi?
> 
> also: wanted to specify, bail does know who anakin really is, in this universe obi wan told him sometime around padmes death/the twins birth. now, i love anakin as much as the next person, but yall, i need you to remember something: 
> 
> bail has no idea what's happening in anakin's head. he hasn't ever had any significant connection with him, before or after the clone wars. he doesn't know anakin, and as far as he is aware, anakin was the one who assisted palpatine, attacked the jedi temple, and was there on mustafar the night padme died- and then killed palps out of nowhere. anakin is dangerous to him, someone who, in a way, betrayed one of bail's greatest allies. he's not, in way, evil for wanting him gone. 
> 
> just bear with me. please.


	3. Wishing, Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the absolutely lovely [AluminumFoil](URL)! Without you, this au would probably not be getting written. Thank you for screaming about this story with me and giving me your amazing ideas! You are the best and i adore you. 
> 
> Also, sorry the pacing is weird as hell, i’m trying to get a feel for when i really start introducing other characters but i don’t want it to feel rushed cause there’s a lot of them and many plotlines to get to (i’m sure you’ve seen the messy ass tags), so bear with me. We’ll actually move away from Clownakin Skywalker and his circus of sadness soon, i promise. 
> 
> so yeah, please, have patience, we're getting there hehe

The job was supposed to be easy. A routine stop for supplies, and then they’d stay away from such crowded planets like Naboo. They’d stay out of the Mid Rim. They’d make sure nobody saw them again. 

They didn’t plan on Echo getting captured, or even noticed at all. 

It had all happened so fast. Echo and Hunter were standing in the markets, picking up food, and suddenly everything had gone wrong. Stormtroopers were sprinting through the markets, yelling things about ‘backup’ and ‘Vader’, and Hunter was yelling above the shouts that they needed to run. 

Echo was trying to run with the food, because it was good quality stuff, and nowadays that was getting harder to find. The Empire was cracking down on smugglers and increasing taxes, and the “acting” (everyone knew he wouldn’t just give up the title for someone else) Emperor Tarkin was taking it even farther. To even get on the planet’s surface, Echo and the Bad Batch had to provide multiple security codes and a facial scan (which they faked; Tech really was a genius). And it was harder to sneak into Theed. 

It seemed, no matter how strong and invincible they wanted to look, the Empire was shaken after Vader’s betrayal. 

Echo hadn’t believed it when they heard. A part of him still doesn’t. Everyone in the galaxy knows Vader as Palpatine’s lap dog, a puppet sent from planet to planet, burning villages and killing those who opposed him. He was feared. He was a nightmare brought to life. 

And… he killed the Emperor? Another wave of shock had gone through each and every planet, almost as big as… well, the Jedi Purge. 

Echo shudders when he thinks of it. The Bad Batch had gotten the command from Cody, of all people, telling them the Jedi were traitors and to be executed. 

The five of them hadn’t believed the order, especially Echo, who had the most experience with Jedi. He couldn’t picture them, especially ones like Generals Skywalker or Kenobi, or the young Commander Tano, betraying the Republic. None of it made any sense. 

After a battle, victory or loss, the Jedi had always looked pained and worn out, even more so than the troopers. They would retreat to their quarters, their faces haunted and bodies hunched. The clones hadn’t understood why, at first. 

But as time went on, and the battles got bloodier and the war seemed to drag on with no end in sight, the clones began to understand. As they were bred for war, the Jedi were raised for peace. 

And after the worst battles, the ones that take hold in your mind and fuel your nightmares, the ones that you can still hear even in silence, the Jedi would tell them exactly that. They were peacekeepers, not soldiers. None of them were meant for fighting, and it showed, sometimes. 

Some of them were good at war, like Kenobi or Skywalker. But they weren’t meant for it, not really. Not like the clones were. Commander Tano, especially, should not have to go through it. She was practically raised on the battlefield, and though Skywalker, Rex, and all of the Vod’e had tried to help her through it, it still took its toll on her. 

The Jedi suffered during the war, yet they still fought; they insisted it was their duty. 

If they put themselves through so much horror to fight for it, why would the Jedi betray the Republic? 

Again, it never made sense- it didn’t when the order came through, and it still didn’t now. 

Echo ponders on it, day after day in this cell, wondering what exactly had gone down before the order went out. 

He wondered if Fives ever knew. When Echo was freed, he had talked with Rex, Jesse, and Kix on their way back to Anaxes. They told him things, things he didn’t want to believe. His only batchmate, his _brother_ , was killed. And Echo wasn’t even there to help. 

They were supposed to go together. Fives had promised. 

_“You and me Echo, we’re in this till the end.”_

_“As long as you don’t go and do something stupid,” Echo says, nudging his brother._

_Fives rolls his eyes, nudging Echo back. “That goes for you, too.”_

Echo leans back against his cell wall, blinking back tears. He did his duty during the Citadel mission, right? He did the right thing. After all, his Jedi and brothers had escaped. He did what he was meant to do: lay down his life for the others. It’s what the Kaminoans always intended for the clones, for them to be perfect soldiers. 

But that doesn’t make him feel any better. Even after touching on it with Rex, and even more with the Bad Batch, he can’t help but think it’s his fault Fives died. The two of them were a team.

Echo doesn’t know what happened to his other brothers; Rex, Jesse, Kix… and he wishes he did. He wishes he was there to witness it all, support them and maybe try to help fix it. He wishes he was there for Fives, his _twin_ , who must have needed him in those last few moments, even if they called him _traitor._

“What happened to you all?” He says aloud. It’s a big question, and he means it to be. In just a matter of days, his Jedi were declared traitors, his brothers were turned into droids, and he was an outlaw with the bare bones of a family. See, as much as the clones are shunned by the rest of the galaxy, they always had each other. Millions of them, always there for each other, since nobody else could understand what it’s like. 

Now there’s only four others left, as far as he knows. But the Bad Batch isn’t like him, not really. Echo was a prime specimen of a clone, a good trooper, an ARC. Then he was taken, and made into something entirely different. He’s the only one like him. It’s a lonely thought, made more so by the fact that his brothers, his Vod’e, are as good as gone.

“Fives,” he whispers shakily. “Where are you?” 

Echo’s all alone, now. Where once he would have gotten a gentle but teasing reply, one perfectly crafted to make Echo smile, like ‘ _I’m right here, di’kut’_ , he’s met with silence. 

But he keeps going. The Jedi used to tell the Vod’e stories of the different aspects of the Force, and how they would become one with it when they died. How spirits would go to the Cosmic Force, and some Jedi could even manifest in the living world after death. 

Maybe somehow, somewhere, his brothers are out there, waiting for him. Can they hear him? Can Fives hear him? Is his brother watching over him, somewhere in the stars? Echo would like to think so. 

So, he keeps talking. What else does he have to do? He tells Fives -or the wall, either one- about his life. He talks about the Bad Batch, and seeing Rex and everyone again, and how strange but so, so _good_ it felt to be freed.

When he finishes his impromptu speech, he looks around the room, still half-expecting a reply. He’ll take anything. 

“I miss you,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as the words are eaten up by the inky, oh-so-empty silence of his cell. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
Luminara sits in the middle of the cell, trying to steady her breathing. It was harder than it had once been; just months ago, meditating was as natural as breathing, a skill she had been honing since her days as an Initiate. 

Now, however, it felt like a chore. When she dares a touch at the Force, it recoils, then latches onto her tightly. As one, or maybe the last, of her people, Luminara is precious to the Force. Her Brothers and Sisters are not here to keep it company as they used to, so the task falls to her. And after everything she’s been through, it’s a heavy weight on her shoulders. 

She could very well be the last Jedi. It’s difficult to think about; where they once had tens of thousands, there is now a mere handful of them left. Then again, it’s impossible to know. After all, traveling in large groups is dangerous for Jedi now. If found, any survivors would be tortured, questioned, _killed_. 

As she surely will be soon. 

She had gotten careless. She should never have gone to Alderaan. But the rumors of Bail Organa hiding surviving Jedi had been too much for her to ignore. She had been _so close_ , too; she had only been a few clicks from the capital when she was caught. 

And now, she’s here. 

Luminara’s cell has a small, barely-there window (more like a hole) carved on the outward-facing wall, probably scratched in from another prisoner. Though the walls are thick, the person who made the window must have had something sharp enough to cut through (she’s not sure she wants to know exactly what). 

Each day when the guards near her door, Luminara sits against the small hole-that-she-calls-window, covering it up so they don’t see. She roots herself in place, ignoring their jeers and taunts, staring straight ahead. She is a Jedi. She will not demean herself by reacting. 

Thankfully, the guards never enter her cell; she thinks they have some special orders to leave her alone. After all, she is a Jedi, their prize. They cannot harm what is theirs to preserve, until their master (whoever that may be) comes along to finish her off. 

So, for now, she leans against the window-hole, wondering if the hot air rising from the lava is the last warmth she’ll ever feel in life. She’s not sure why she feels so protective of a hole, why it’s so important that the guards don’t see it. Maybe it’s because it gives her a feel of when the guards rotate stations, which might help her if she ever escapes. Maybe it’s because staring at the lava flow every day is a strange sort of entertainment. 

But whatever the reason, Luminara doesn’t want the guards to take it away from her. 

She fidgets, wrists rubbing against the metal cuffs. Taking a deep breath, she tries to let go of the anger, as the Masters used to teach. 

_"Take a breath,"_ they would say. _“Feel the emotion. And release it into the Force_.” 

And she tries, she does. But when she gathers the emotion, preparing to let it out, it sticks to her. The anger, the pain, the hurt of losing _everything_ is tangled up in her heart and she can’t- she can’t- 

_Why did they have to die? Why did they destroy us?_

Why did she have to watch from the cockpit of her stolen ship as they murdered her Siblings? Their children were murdered, their home was burned, her entire way of life outlawed and her people _gone-_

_Why?_

Luminara feels tears prick at her eyes, and she breathes deeply, lip trembling. She hasn’t lost control like this in years. It’s usually easy to let go of her anger; even after everything with Barriss, in time she had been fine. 

_Barriss._ Who had been so _wrong_ and lost- but she had technically predicted- 

The Republic fell, and everything Luminara loved had gone with it. It feels unimaginable, even after months of trying to deal with it. There is a hole that has been ripped in her heart, and Luminara wishes she could heal it. But she can’t. This is something unfixable, something that the universe is putting her through and she is powerless to stop it. 

_We didn’t deserve this,_ she thinks. And she hopes it is true. 

After a few moments of wallowing, Luminara wipes her eyes, refusing to let her emotions get the best of her. She is a Jedi Master. She controls her emotions, so they do not control her. 

She looks at the ceiling, and for a second she sees the ceiling of the Temple, her _home_ . It’s almost too much to bear. The memories of _that day_ resurface, and she lets out one, raw sob. Luminara squeezes her eyes shut, picturing them all; her friends, her family, her people. Taking deep breaths, she finally releases the pain as she was taught. She must survive, in honor of her kin. She is a Jedi. She is a Master. 

Quietly, she repeats her lineage mantra to herself in her mind. _The Force provides us guidance when we have lost our way._

_The Force provides us guidance when we have lost our way._

_  
_“The Force provides us guidance when we have lost our way,” she whispers aloud, the words coming out shakier than she’d like, but they still provide comfort. For a brief, brief moment, Luminara hears the Masters assuring her, the Knights greeting her, the Padawans asking her questions. She hears her home.

She feels more like herself again. She will survive. 

She has to. 

  
  
  


* * *

Anakin watches as the healers enter his cell. They come every day, tending to his wounds, readying him for the next day when someone comes to beat him again. 

It’s a cruel cycle. And when they’re not hurting him, they’re questioning him. They seem to think he’s siding with the Jedi, and their wanting to find survivors of the purge is the only reason he’s alive. 

They ask him the same questions, each day.

_“Where are the survivors? Are you hiding them? Is that why you killed the Emperor? Are the Jedi planning to take over?”_

Anakin never answers. How could he? He wouldn’t know what to say. He’s not allied with the Jedi. He killed Palpatine because he hated him. If there are any survivors of the purge, Anakin wouldn’t know where they’d be. 

_He can’t find the worst one- Kenobi. How could he find other survivors if he can’t even find his old master?_

So, it keeps going, day after day- questioning, torture, healing, and then some twisted form of sleep. They hate that he doesn’t answer their questions. They punish him for it. Their injections of nutrients are smaller, the respirator made faulty while he sleeps. 

The healer currently with him wraps a bandage around his upper arm, not making eye contact. The guard at the door forcibly guides the healer out, then slides the heavy door shut. 

  
Anakin is left in darkness, once again. The Force whispers incoherently around him, murmuring words like _child_ and _Sister_ and _friend_. It sounds excited, almost happy, and Anakin prods at it with his mind, wondering what’s happening. 

It animatedly surrounds him, yelling thousands of thoughts in his head all at once. He winces, the overload of emotions from his parent a bit much for his weakened state. 

_Reach out, reach out, do you feel it, my son?_

“What are you talking about?” Anakin chokes out from his place on the ground. Through the respirator, his voice is clipped and choppy, almost robotical. “What am I supposed to feel?” 

If there was a way for an entity to wack someone on the head with a nonexistent hand, the Force would have done it. _Reach out, child, reach out!_

Anakin does, and the Force directs him to that strange cell next door. Specifically, its inhabitant. The Force surrounds them, pointing Anakin towards... whoever it is. 

Their Force signature is muffled, but still strong. Anakin gravitates towards this person, who even with the Force cut off feels deep and unwavering. He’s drawn to them, reaching for their presence. It feels welcoming, if a bit… cold. Like they’ve been through pain. 

If they’re a Jedi, they definitely have. Anakin ignores the stab at his heart that the thought gives him. 

Eyes closed, he centers his breathing. He carefully focuses the Force around the person (a benefit, he thinks, of not having hands; there’s no way for them to keep him from using the Force). He lets the energy well up in his veins, until the ache of his broken body is almost forgotten. 

(Almost. There’s no forgetting what Kenobi did to him). 

He directs the Force to a specific point on his fellow prisoner. He pictures the cuffs in his mind, and when he does, he can feel them binding this person’s energy. With a twist of the Force, he manages to break them a small, small bit. Not all the way, but just enough that they can likely feel him now. 

Sure enough, he receives a pulse in the Force, suspicion and even fear. The cuffs aren’t broken enough that he can get a grasp on who it is, or fully communicate with them; but he can sense them, and they him. 

He sends a wave of reassurance back. He’s not sure why, exactly, he feels the need to help and talk to this person- maybe it’s because he’s been alone for months, and it would be nice to talk to someone. Maybe because he knows what it’s like to be here, in this hell of a prison, and wishes to make it the smallest bit easier for someone else. 

Or maybe the possibility of them being a Jedi, and he wants to find out if it’s true. A combination of all three, perhaps. 

The person sends a question back. It feels like a _who are you?_

He realizes, in that moment, he doesn’t want them to know. It’s better if they don’t. Whoever he is, Anakin, Vader, whatever- he doesn't want them to know. 

Instead, he sends back, _are you a Jedi?_

After a moment, and Anakin wonders if they won’t reply, he receives a quiet, barely-there _yes._

Surprise, fear, anger, apologies all bloom within Anakin. Ignoring the mix of emotions in him, he asks, _a Master?_

 _I suppose so._ A beat. _I had a Padawan once._

 _So did I,_ Anakin says, and he lets them do with that information what they will. His mind digs up a time long ago, on Christophsis, when Ahsoka had first stepped foot into his life. And she stayed there, rooted, as much a part of him as Padmé or… _Kenobi_. 

He failed her, didn’t he? Twice now, he’s failed her. He pictures her, looking up at him, eyes watering and that was it, wasn’t it? The moment his heart had shattered because his padawan, his sister, _Ahoska_ was let down by _all_ of them, him included; and she was- she was leaving him- 

He misses her. He wonders where she is, if she’s alive ( _if she’s not, it would be his fault- please, no-_ ) 

A part of him misses all of them. But he’s not ready to face that yet. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Ahsoka dives to the ground, ducking her head to keep her montrals out of firing range. She looks over the table, dodging shots aimed at her. 

One well-placed shot grazes her shoulder, and she almost drops the package. “Blast!” she curses, looking around for an escape route. 

The only door of the bar is blocked off by Stormtroopers, who are also shooting at her, along with the bounty hunters on the other side. Even though it’s blocked, it’s her only option, and she needs to get out of here- if she doesn’t get this data chip to Bail, they’re kriffed. 

The chip has the names of the Empire’s suspected survivors of the purge, who, if found, could be a lot of help to Bail and Ahsoka’s cause. However, the location of the exchange had been discovered, and now, she was in the middle of a shootout. 

Her informant is dead, and she’s almost regretting leaving her lightsabers behind that day- 

_Focus_ , she thinks, chastising herself. She starts to formulate a plan, but before she can move, another body squeezes into her booth, shoulder pressed against her own. 

Ahsoka turns, her blaster pointed square at the unknown person. They’re wearing a large brown cloak, covering their face and body. She’s two seconds from shooting when the person raises their hands in mock surrender, shouting over the din.

“Don’t shoot! I’m here to help.” Their voice sounds female, and Ahsoka sends a quick question to the Force, which confirms it. 

“Help?” Ahsoka yells back. “I came here alone.” 

“Yeah, but if you plan on getting out of here alone, spoiler alert, you won’t make it past the door.” The person gestures towards said door, which has six or so Imps barricading it. 

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, turning back and taking down a few guards. She hears a sigh next to her, and the person speaks again. 

“Listen, I’m pretty sure you’re against the Empire, and, well, I got some things against the Empire- so unless you’re working with them and this is some warped training exercise-” 

“I’m _not_ working for the Empire,” Ahsoka snarls. 

“Okay, well, that’s great. Neither am I. Now, do you have a ship?” 

Ahsoka ponders that while she shoots a few bounty hunters. “It… it might have blown up.” 

The person laughs loudly, and though Ahsoka can’t get a good look at her face, hidden by a hood as it is, she sees her throw her head back in jest. “Blown up! How did it get blown up?”

“I might have crashed.” 

“And how did you manage that?” 

“I was being chased. By TIES.” 

The person, who is currently throwing small grenades around the bar like it’s a game of darts, sighs. “Wow, you let yourself get shot down by TIES? How bad of a pilot are you?” 

Ahsoka looks at her indignantly. “I didn’t do it on _purpose_ -” 

“Okay, okay, sorry. Well, guess what! I have a ship. And a damn good reason to get off this planet. Hitch a ride?” 

Ahsoka narrows her eyes at her unknown helper. “Why are you helping me?” 

“I told you. I have a reason to get off this planet, and I was gonna leave anyway. You have no ship, and you don’t seem to like the Empire, so, why shouldn’t I help you?” 

She ponders that. She knows better, after all these months, not to blindly trust people; but the Force isn’t objecting, and it’s not like she has any better options. 

“I’m in,” she tells the girl. 

“Great! Now, you might wanna duck- things are gonna get _messy_.” The person sounds gleeful, and Ahsoka can’t help but be reminded of Hardcase. 

Her helper chucks a grenade at the middle of the bar, and the ensuing blast is enough to knock a few people down (including the ones who were, well, killed). Ahsoka winces at the blatant killings, but decides to brush it off. She can’t think of things like that. _Kill or be killed, Ahsoka._

“Now!” the person yells, and Ahsoka doesn’t need to hear it twice. The two of them run for the door, shooting down anyone who stands in their way. They book it through the streets, and even with Ahsoka using Force-accelerated running, her helper manages to keep up- even take the lead. 

“This way,” she calls to her, and Ahsoka follows her through a small alley. They twist throughout the spaceport, taking tight passageways and keeping to the shadows. 

“How far is your ship?” Ahsoka asks after walking in silence for a while. 

“Not far,” the helper replies, leading her on. She beckons her inside a small building. “I just need to grab something, and then we can go.” 

Ahsoka nods, taking a breath. She looks around, registering her surroundings. It looks like a home. Small, crowded, but cozy. 

“Kanan!” Her helper shouts down a hallway. Ahsoka waits, watching this scene unfold. The helper pulls down her hood, revealing a head of heather-purple hair. It’s tied up in two symmetrical buns on either side of her head. She has a slender build, short and slightly curvy. Her arms, which are a dark tan, have a few scars on each. She’s wearing deep purple gloves, the same color of her vest and straps on her pants. Under the vest is a gold cross belt, and under that is a black tank top. The tank is lined with a gold metal belt, just like the top of her pants, which are bright blue. 

She turns back to her, bright green eyes colliding with Ahsoka’s. she’s giving her a friendly grin, the purple tattoos under her eyes curving upwards with her lips. 

“I’m Rayshe, Rayshe Everens,” the person, Rayshe, says. “You?” 

“Ashla,” she says back. “Just Ashla.” 

Rayshe nods. She turns and calls back down the hall again. “Kanan! C’mon!” 

A boy, young and wide-eyed, peaks around the wall of what Ahsoka thinks is Rayshe’s living room. Ahsoka, for a second, thinks she recognizes him; but it’s impossible. The only children she ever knew were the younglings and the Initiates at the Temple, and they’re- they’re gone now. 

“Rayshe? Who’s this?” The boy asks, sounding unsure. He heads over to Rayshe, who pats him on the shoulder reassuringly. 

“This is Ashla. She’s not working for the Empire, Kanan; the two of us just took down some Imps a few minutes ago. We’re gonna give her a ride to…” Rayshe trails off, silently asking Ahsoka where, exactly, they’re heading. 

“Alderaan,” Ahsoka says back. “I’m going to Alderaan.” 

“Alderaan! That’s pretty far from old Kaller- what’re you doing there?” Rayshe smirks, head tilted. 

“I’ve got…” Ahsoka looks down at the chip in her hand, twirling it around. “I’ve got important business there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) yes, the bad batch had their chips removed here, because baby genius tech is a genius and discovered them. it'll be expanded on later, but for now, they had their chips removed just before the order went out, but they weren't in time to warn the rest of the GAR 
> 
> 2) anakin can use the force to break luminara's handcuffs through the wall because he's the chosen one and this is my story and i needed it to happen, so... yeah 
> 
> 3) AHSOKA IS HERE, and Rayshe, my OC who i love and can't wait to write more for, and, well, i'm sure you figured out who Kanan really is...
> 
> please leave a comment, its always really nice to see your thoughts! im not super happy with this chapter so hopefully you liked it
> 
> tumblr @ayo-cowbelly


	4. Get Lost in the Mind's Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello welcome to part four :) 
> 
> i don't really have much to say, so let's just get right into it, shall we?

Ahsoka’s surrounded by blackness. The ground beneath her is squishy, watery, _cold_. Her skin stands out like a beacon in the darkness. She looks down at her arms, feeling heavy and weightless all at once. 

Shadows wisp around Ahsoka, the tendrils crawling up her arms. Small bumps erupt on her arms from where they touch her, making her shiver. The wisps of blackness swirl around her montrals, moving up and down her body. 

Uneasiness growing, Ahsoka slowly lowers a hand, intending to grab her blaster. Instead of a blaster, however, she finds a familiar metal cylinder. The cool material of her lightsaber feels out-of-place yet, also like hugging an old friend. 

Like before, her hands fit perfectly around the hilt. She holds it in front of her, turning it over in her hands. She’d left it on that moon so long ago- how is it here? 

A warmth spreads through her body. She closes her eyes, allowing herself a small, true smile. It feels right, having her lightsaber back. It feels like coming home. 

_Home._ Home is Coruscant. Home is the Temple- as much as it isn’t. Home is asking Master Plo questions, having tea with Master Obi-Wan, joking around with Anakin. Home is the Jedi, but it’s _not._ It hasn’t been for a while. So why is it so painful, thinking of everything she left behind? 

Ahsoka goes to turn on the blade, as if to confirm that _yes, this is her lightsaber, it’s here, with her, where it belongs._ But instead, she’s met with a flickering burst of blue, green, then nothing. She turns it off, then on again. The blade sparks and shorts, then goes dead. When she opens the barrel, intending to inspect the crystal, she recoils at what she sees. 

Her Kyber crystal is broken. It’s cracked at the center, the blue-green color (as if it couldn’t decide between the two) fading. The edges are turning to dust, and Ahsoka dumps some over her fingers, looking it over. To her dismay, it practically melts in her hand. 

Ahsoka pulls the crystal out, and as soon as she’s holding it, it melts. The dust mixes with the runny material, which is starting to sear her hand. Smoke erupts from it, the horrid sound of burning flesh following. Ahsoka waves her hand, running the other over her palm, until the remains of her crystal is gone. 

Her chest heaving, Ahsoka is powerless as the hilt of her ‘saber fractures down the middle, splitting in half in her hand. Eyes wide, she watches as the broken lightsaber falls to the ground, shattering. 

Looking down at the ruined weapon, Ahsoka kneels next to it. She runs her hand over the remnants of her lightsaber, lip quivering against her will. 

_This lightsaber is your life._

Ahsoka picks up a particularly big piece, and catches the eye of her reflection. But it’s not her, at least, not this version of her. In the metal, she sees herself disembarking a shuttle, the blues of Christophsis glinting around her. She sees different moments of her apprenticeship, the big and small.

An unnoticed tear glides down her cheek, and it lands on the broken lightsaber. The tear somehow washes away the scenes of a time long ago, and Ahsoka watches them go with a heavy heart. 

“Ahsoka.” 

Her head whips up, heart pounding. Ahsoka stands on shaking legs, the shard of her lightsaber almost cutting into her hand. 

“Who’s there?” She calls. Her voice sounds far away, like she’s somehow speaking out of her own body. The words bounce around this place, reverberating back at her. 

“Ahsoka,” a voice says again. That voice, it- it sounds like…

“Anakin?” Ahsoka whispers, more to herself. To her right, she sees him appear, parting the shadows. Her old master holds his arms out, beckoning her to him. Ahsoka stays still for a second, just letting her eyes wash over him. Her heart feels like it might bleed with everything she’s ever felt. 

He looks like he once did, before Mandalore, before Barriss. He looks like her master, like her Anakin. To see him, even in this maybe-dreamscape, is something she’s wished for over and over and _over_ again. This is Anakin, _Anakin,_ and she so wants to believe this is real. He’s the Chosen One, isn’t he? He’s everything they said he was, back before she was assigned to him and resigned to hearing the legend of Skywalker-and-Kenobi from her creche-mates. 

Ahsoka slowly, carefully, makes her way over to him, afraid that if she moves too fast he’ll disappear. As she gets close, he opens his arms, and Ahsoka can’t help but let herself hug him tight. It’s something she hasn’t done in months, but she’s young and she’s scared and she’s adrift in a too-wavy sea _._

“I thought you were dead,” she mumbles into his robes, emotions getting the best of her. She won’t cry, but she’s close. He’s so familiar, so gut-wrenchingly familiar, and she just can’t take it. He smells the same, like he did when she was just 14 years old, seeking solace after a battle. Motor oil, some sweat, and that _Anakin_ scent that smelled like a rainforest after a storm. It was as comforting as ever. 

Anakin says nothing; so unlike him, but he’s here, he’s alive, and it feels so gloriously right that Ahsoka doesn’t mind. He feels ghostly, like a dream, almost. 

If this is a dream, she never wants to wake up. 

They stay there, holding on to each other for what feels like dear life; maybe they are. The pain of the last few months fades away, and Ahsoka feels like she can finally _breathe_ again. Her fears, her sorrow- all of it doesn’t matter. Anakin will show her the way, as he always does. The world is on fire, and Ahsoka will finally be shown a way out of the flames. Won’t she? 

_...No._

Unfortunately, the world is cruel and unforgiving and does not show mercy to lost girls and their brothers. It does not care if its inhabitants are swallowed by the flames they don’t know how to put out. It does not give them time to run for water, it does not give them a path to preservation. 

This galaxy, the one Ahsoka lives in, will not grant her a lifeline, and she should remember that. 

Eventually, Anakin pries her off him, holding her at arm's length. He gives her that smile, the one she knows so well, _so well._

“Ahsoka,” he repeats. 

“Anakin.” 

His expression morphs. The smile is gone, melting off his face like her Kyber crystal just did in her hand. Ahsoka retracts, wondering what’s wrong. 

Anakin steps back, face devoid of emotion. 

“You left me, Ahsoka,” he says. “You left me. You left us all.” 

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I left the Jedi. I didn’t mean to leave you-” 

“But you did.” 

_You did. You did. You did you did you did-_

“I didn’t mean to!” Ahsoka sputters out pleadingly. “I didn’t- _I didn’t mean to._ ” It comes out quiet, splintered, another reflection of her grief. 

“You were gone. And now... I am,” Anakin says coldly, his words spearing her without remorse. “I’m dead, Ahsoka. We all are.” 

“No, no, no, _no,_ you’re not, you can’t be-” 

“We’re dead, Ahsoka,” her old master repeats. “We’re all _dead-”_

 _“NO!”_ she shouts, throat raw. “ _YOU-_ you can’t- you’re not dead, you can’t be dead. Not you. Not you. Of all of them, not you.”

She crumples to the ground, arms wrapped around herself as if they’ll stop the pain. But this pain, a true pain, a lost-everything type of pain, is one that Ahsoka thinks will never go away. 

“Please,” Ahsoka sobs. “Not you. Not you too.” 

He steps back, the darkness eating him up. Ahsoka runs after him, her arms reaching for him; and she’s met with emptiness. He’s gone. He’s gone and he’s not coming back and _where did they all go-_

A rumble above her steals her attention. Looking up, she sees the ceiling crumble. The world around her starts to collapse. She can’t move, _she can’t move,_ and she watches, frozen as this dark place rains down upon her frozen body- 

Her breath catches, making her eyes snap open. Her chest heaves, and her body tenses, preparing for something nonexistent to fall on her. Ahsoka runs her hands over her arms, even pinching her shoulder, and the _prick_ feeling it gives her confirms that it was just a dream. 

_A dream._

“Kriff me,” Ahsoka sighs, running worn hands over her puffy-from-sleep cheeks. Anakin’s face flashes before her eyes, and she winces. It had felt so _real_. For the first time in months, she had felt safe, loved, like she was being pulled from an ocean before she drowned. 

She looks around her new quarters, somewhat used to them after four days of being on Rayshe’s ship. The room is compact, gray, just a small bed enveloped in four walls with a ‘fresher attached. 

Ahsoka glances at the time. 0400 hours. Great. There goes her hope of a full night’s sleep, for once. She’s been having dreams and nightmares alike for months. Her mind just won’t switch off; it’s always full of her master’s voice, blaster shots, the pain of Order 66 filling her bones as Maul tells her of Sidious’ plan, Rex’s weary face as she removed his helmet before that ship went down, the one full of their brothers...

(but they weren’t their brothers, not then. They were puppets, the only things familiar about them being the deep blue on their armor and their voices- _but it wasn’t their voices, they would never say things like that_ ). 

She remembers Jesse, the only one of them besides Rex who was still there, shooting at her over and over again, calling her a traitor and trying to kill her- before the ship went down and they were dead- before she buried them, wishing they could’ve gone down as themselves. She wishes they had died honorable deaths, as close to their terms as possible, instead of her digging their graves on some forgotten moon, their last moments dominated by some blasted scrap of metal in their heads- 

Ahsoka puts her head in her hands, trying to shove the memories away, but they don’t stop. They’re insistent, intent on causing her pain when all she wants is to forget. 

“ _Stop_ ,” she whispers into the cool, filtered ship air. Finally, she wills away the flashbacks. She’ll deal with it another time, when she actually has time for things like that. 

She climbs out of her bunk, pulling on a thin jacket before stepping into the hall. Rayshe’s ship isn’t too big, smaller than Trace’s had been but still a good fit for the three of them. Rayshe had said getting sufficient heating was expensive, and spaceships have a tendency to run cold at times, so Ahsoka was left watching her breath float around as she walked to the kitchen. 

When she switches the lights on, Ahsoka shields her eyes as she adjusts to the fluorescents. She pours herself a cup of caf, the bitter taste reminding her of her time on the _Resolute_. They never had time or extra money to pick up good-quality caf (except on special occasions), which meant their drinks were… less than stellar. 

Ahsoka leans against the counter, brushing off the pang in her chest. Again, she’ll deal with it later. 

_Later, later, later... that’s what you always say._

“Shut up,” she whispers hoarsely to herself, turning towards the wall. She’s not in the mood for internal battles, or that part of her brain that insists on dealing with her demons. Ahsoka knows she should, but she just doesn’t have time. And, even 10 months later, some things are too painful for her to dig into. 

_Later never comes, does it?_

“I said, shut _up_!” 

“You talkin’ to someone?” a groggy voice says behind her. Ahsoka whips around and sees Rayshe, dressed in a large sweater that falls to her knees, the same purple-y color as her hair. She’s got fuzzy socks on also, which hit just below her kneecaps. Her hair is thrown up into a _very_ messy ponytail, and her eyes are blinking at Ahsoka, trying to make sense of her. 

Ahsoka crosses her arms defensively. “No, I’m not talking to anyone.” 

“You sure?” Rayshe asks, voice clearer as she becomes more awake. “I could’ve sworn you were telling someone to shut up.” 

“No,” Ahsoka insists, forcing down another swallow of the caf before she gives up on it. “You probably dreamt it.” 

“How could I dream something if I was awake?” 

“I don’t know!” Ahsoka huffs. “Look, I wasn’t talking to anyone, alright? Leave it.” 

Rayshe gives her what Ahsoka thinks might be a signature look of hers, a raised eyebrow that perfectly conveys _yeah, right_ . “Fine, fine, whatever you want.” She pours herself a cup of tea, a type that she says is for her, and her only, and _stop trying to swipe it, Kanan, you have your hot chocolate, remember?_

Rayshe stands next to Ahsoka against the counter, giving her a half-smile. “You know, Ashla, everyone’s got their shit. It’s not something to be ashamed of.” 

Ahsoka exhales sharply. “I’m not ashamed of it, and I don’t have _shit_.” 

“Then why are you awake, pray tell?” 

“I’m…” Ahsoka searches her head for a reason besides _I had a nightmare of my dead master who’s like my brother. Oh yeah, by the way, I used to be a Jedi. How fun!_ “I’m not used to sleeping on ships.” 

“Sure you aren’t,” Rayshe drawls. She doesn’t buy the lie, but Ahsoka’s not willing to spend time on it. 

“So, why are you awake?” Ahsoka shoots back. 

“I’m always awake,” the other girl laughs. “Can never get my brain to shut off.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Ahsoka admits. She blinks, and stands straight. “I don’t- can we not talk about this, please? It’s not something I want to bring up.” 

Rayshe nods slowly. “I get that. Kanan’s the same way. Quiet kid, most of the time.” 

“What happened to him, anyway?” Ahsoka wonders aloud, eyes drifting towards the hallway. 

Rayshe follows her gaze. “Honestly, I’m not sure. We met a few months ago; I found him in a back alley, eyes blown wide and looking half-starved. Kid kept shaking and babbling- something about traitors and someone dying. He was obviously alone, and I thought, ‘what the hell?’. Took him in, and that was it.” 

“You never asked why he was there?” 

“Oh, I did,” Rayshe sighs, taking a swig of tea before going on. “Loads o’ times. He never said much about it, just that his mom was killed by people he thought were his friends.” 

“Bounty hunters? Gang members?” Ahsoka asks, looking back at Rayshe, who shakes her head. 

“No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t seem like the kind of kid who would be caught up in that sort of thing. From what he’s told me of his mom, she wasn’t either. Said she was… smart, brave.” She pauses, meets Ahsoka’s eyes for a second, then goes on. “There’s something about him… he’s too polite, sometimes, and he’s wickedly good at fighting. Or, he knows shit about politics that even I don’t. One time, I mentioned something ‘bout the Clone Wars- and he corrected me!” 

Ahsoka’s mouth twists. “Maybe he’s from the Core.” 

“Yeah,” Rayshe snickers. “The _Core_.” 

_Of course she says it like that,_ Ahsoka thinks wryly. Rayshe, from what Ahsoka’s heard and seen, isn’t someone who ventures outside the Outer Rim that often- or even at all. She doesn’t know much about the old government, or even the new one. Once, when Ahsoka asked about what Rayshe thought of the war, she’d replied with _why should I care about the war, if the war doesn’t care about me?_

Ahsoka hadn’t known how to answer that. 

“Maybe he’s from some place like Alderaan or whatever. Somewhere fancy and pretty,” Rayshe says, eyes distant. Ahsoka shrugs in response. The nice thing about Rayshe is, she talks a lot- and doesn’t care if you reply. It’s good for Ahsoka, who doesn't have much to talk about these days. 

Speaking of Alderaan, Ahsoka should check-in with Bail. They’ve barely talked in the few days she’s been on board, and it’d be good to comm him, later on when it’s not the middle of the night. 

The two of them turn on the holocaster mounted on the wall, neither talking. It’s some news channel, one flooded with Empire propaganda and a newscaster who looks like she’s never ventured out of the Core in her life. 

“In other news, it has officially been 300 days since the passing of our beloved late Emperor Palpatine,” the newscaster says. On the screen, a picture of Palpatine appears. Ahsoka’s eyes narrow, and her heart pounds faster. 

That disgusting, evil man, is the reason for all of this. Ahsoka knows that hatred is bad, it leads to the Dark side- but she thinks if there’s anyone who deserves hatred, it’s Palpatine. He lied to them, murdered them, and Ahsoka is glad he’s dead. 

“You know, they say he’s beloved but, I don’t know how anyone could love something as ugly as _that_.” Rayshe points to the screen, nose wrinkled. “That ugly thing got what he deserved, in my opinion.” 

“Why do you hate the Empire?” Ahsoka asks, then hurriedly adds: “Aside for, well, obvious reasons.” 

“Why does anyone hate the Empire? They’re murderers. Bunch o’ creeps who stalk Force-sensitives and burn down villages. They round up innocent people and leave their children to die,” Rayshe says bitterly. She runs her hands over one of her facial tattoos, looking melancholy. “The Jedi aren’t the only ones whose lives got destroyed.” 

It’s not a real answer, Ahsoka can tell; but it’s all she’s going to get, and she’s fine with that. She’s not here to share sob stories- she’s here to get to Alderaan and that’s it. She’ll probably never see Rayshe again after this, so there’s no reason to get close with her. 

A second later, Rayshe blurts out, “Fuck the Empire.” 

Ahsoka snorts in spite of herself. “Fuck the Empire,” she echoes. Rayshe gives her a small grin, shaking her head and looking down, a bit of gloom still in her eyes. 

They fall into an easy, though still heavy, silence once again. Eventually, Ahsoka has had enough of the perky voice of the newscaster, so she switches the screen off. Rayshe doesn’t object, just stands there drinking her tea. 

The hum of the ship’s engines is now the only noise, and Ahsoka turns her head to watch the ever-present streak of hyperspace zoom by. She pushes the dream out of her mind, knowing it’s not something worth dwelling on. The Masters used to teach her that you could drive yourself crazy trying to figure out a dream; sometimes, it’s best to let them go. 

Lately, Ahsoka’s had trouble with that; it was never her strong suit, but it’s been harder to do since the Purge. Her dreams usually involve the clones, or the Jedi, or both. She dreams of death, and loss, and when she wakes up she’s always surprised at how heavy the Force is. 

A sound of cries fills the ship, pulling Ahsoka from her musings. There’s an almost-scream, the sound of yells, and a name being yelled coming from Kanan’s room. Ahsoka and Rayshe glance at each other, then both take off running to Kanan’s room. Rayshe gets there first, and Ahsoka watches her face change as the door opens. Her shoulders droop, and she shakes her head as she approaches Kanan, who’s shaking and mumbling something on the bed. 

Rayshe sits on the bed, gathering the kid in her arms. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

“ _Mas… Style… NO!”_ Kanan cries in his sleep, turning and fidgeting on the bed. His arm flails out, as if to push something, and Rayshe gently grabs it, murmuring quiet words into his ear. 

This goes on for a while, Kanan yelling and Rayshe trying to calm him down. She runs her hand over his forehead, brushing his brown hair away from his face. It’s a gentle scene, one that’s almost jarring for Ahsoka- it reminds her of when she was a youngling, being comforted through a nightmare in the Creche- or on the _Resolute_ , with her brothers. 

“Kanan, you’re okay. You’re okay,” Rayshe whispers, left arm wrapped around Kanan’s shoulders. “You’re okay, kid, I promise.” 

“ _Stop,”_ Kanan mumbles again, and Rayshe keeps talking to him, as if he wasn’t trying to wrestle out of her arms, reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. 

Kanan finally quiets, appearing to drift into a peaceful, if a bit restless, sleep. Rayshe slowly stands, guiding Ahsoka from the room. They head into the kitchen again, sitting at the small table in the corner. 

“He gets those, sometimes,” Rayshe mumbles, almost to herself, head propped up on her right hand. “The nightmares. Keeps yelling about someone named ‘Styles’ or ‘Grey’. I have no idea what to make of them, but I try to keep him calm as best I can.” 

“How old is he, anyway?” Ahsoka asks. 

“Around 14, he told me. Pretty sure he’s been through a lot, though- I’m 19, and it seems like he’s seen more than I ever have.” 

“I wonder what,” Ahsoka says, head tilting in thought.

  
“Like I said,” Rayshe mutters. “there’s something about him.” 

Ahsoka silently agrees.

  
  


* * *

Later on, when Kanan’s wide awake and helping Rayshe make lunch, Ahsoka takes the time to comm Bail in the engine room. 

“Ashla,” the hologram of Bail Organa says, using her alias (it’s always better to be safe than sorry). “I was worried you’d been captured.” 

“I’m well and kicking, Senator,” Ahsoka smiles. “And I got the package.” She holds up the data chip proudly, setting it down next to her small holoprojector. 

Bail’s shoulders dropped, looking relieved. “Good. When you arrive, we’ll go through it. Hopefully, there’s one name on there we can locate.” 

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ahsoka answers. “I’ll be there in about… three or four days, give or take.” 

Bail nods, and just before the call ends, Ahsoka asks, “Senator, do you believe we’ll find any Jedi?” 

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Ashla, we must have hope,” Bail answers, looking ten times his age in that moment. “We’ve already made progress; Darth Vader has been imprisoned, as you know. And Palpatine is dead.” 

“Yes, but Tarkin’s already making it harder to travel. I’m worried, Senator, that it’ll be harder for me to help.” 

Bail gives her a tight-lipped smile, standing tall. “We must have hope,” he repeats, then the hologram switches off. Ahsoka dusts her legs off and stands up, collecting herself before she heads out. 

“So,” Rayshe calls when she sees Ahsoka approaching. “does the engine look okay? No problems?” 

After a beat, Ahsoka says hurriedly, “Oh, uh, yeah.” She sits, and Rayshe pushes a plate of food at her. “Everything looks fine.” 

“Good.” Rayshe grins at her and starts eating. Ahsoka catches Kanan’s eye, who’s giving her a look she can’t decipher. Ahsoka doesn’t dare reach out into the Force; Rayshe wasn’t wrong when she said there’s something about Kanan, and Ahsoka isn’t taking any chances. 

Kanan raises an eyebrow, lips pursed, then starts eating as well. Ahsoka watches for a second, then turns away. 

A strange kid indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit of a slower chapter, but again, i'm trying not to make this feel rushed or overloaded, so i'm trying to develop all the plot points before we jump to the next one. bear with me, lovelies! 
> 
> as always, comments mean the absolute world to me, so please share your thoughts below! 
> 
> tumblr: ayo-cowbelly (ill stop putting it here soon lmao)


	5. Remnants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually slides in after not updating for like three weeks* heyyyyyyyyyy
> 
> Also: wanted to say- there is a self-loathing tag. Please know that when characters (*cough* obi wan and anakin *cough*) are mean to themselves, or say something about the jedi or anakin falling, that is not me bashing them. That is me writing them, and they are biased, of course. They will have their own opinions about their and the jedi’s roles in how everything went down. Their views are not my own. 
> 
> I am trying my best not to do jedi bashing, or anakin bashing, or anything like that. The only characters here who are gonna be bashed are sheev palpatine and tarkin (because they suck, and well, they totally deserve it). 
> 
> So. yeah. That’s all. Anyways, back to the show!

Obi-Wan (or Ben- he forgets, sometimes, which name he’s supposed to use. When he remembers, it’s almost like a slap in the face) knocks softly on the door of the Lars’ homestead. Though it was small, the layout of the house means the knock will likely echo throughout the walls. Obi-Wan imagines he will soon be greeted by an already-jaded-looking Owen or a tired Beru, but until then, he waits. 

He takes the time to survey the empty, tan plains all around the homestead. They stretch out endlessly, serene and unchanging. 

(Though they are calming, Obi-Wan’s lived here long enough to know that this can be an illusion; his first few months in the desert, he had gotten lost and dehydrated out here on multiple occasions- thank Force for the generosity of the Tusken Raiders, who had guided him back. 

Obi-Wan has started to learn their language, and has enjoyed many nights learning their culture over the fire. They are a proud people, the Tuskens, and they know the desert. And in return for their generosity, Obi-Wan brings them certain items and foods from the markets of Mos Eisley and Anchorhead, when he goes there. This partnership, of sorts, has distracted him from… other things. That, and learning how to meditate outside without overheating. 

The Force scolds him for possibly endangering himself, but the dunes are _calming_ , in their own way.) 

The door opening brings him out of his thoughts. Beru Lars is standing in the doorway, a bit frazzled-looking but a kind smile on her face. She’s been a saving grace these few months- she’s insisted he visit often, somehow knowing he’d be lonely out here. They’ve enjoyed a few hunting trips together (all of them ending with Beru and her treasured sniper rifle taking control while Obi-Wan sits on the side, partly watching, partly meditating), and he’s joined them for dinner a few times. 

(And sometimes, Beru shows up at his door at an unholy time of night, somehow knowing when Obi-Wan’s at his worst; he’s never figured out how she knows, and when he asks he gets a serene smile and some vague statement about the sand dunes. 

Beru talks to him, telling Obi-Wan about Luke and the farm, desert myths, mindless tales that distract him. Once, and only once has he opened up to her. 

He didn’t tell her everything, practically nothing in fact, but it was more than he thought he’d ever share. Mostly stories of the war, memories of his friends and- and Cody, that pulled at his heartstrings but felt good to speak about.) 

Owen and Beru also have a quiet understanding that Obi-Wan should get alone time with Luke- they acknowledged early on that Luke was able to do… strange things, what they might’ve thought were magical things once upon a time, if they hadn’t met Owen’s step-brother years ago. 

They know Obi-Wan could do those things too, so they gave the baby to the Master every once and awhile, which also granted them time to rest and get chores done (Luke was a sweet baby, but when you’re trying to cook and the spoons keep floating in the air, you sometimes want a break). 

“Ben! It’s been a while- how are you?” Beru greets him cheerfully, bouncing baby Luke in her arms. 

“I’m good, Beru, thank you. How are you?” 

She sighs, shoulders drooping ever so slightly. “Good, but, well… tired. This one,” she gestures to Luke, “keeps me up a lot. It’s gotten better, but he has trouble sleeping through the night.” 

Obi-Wan follows Beru inside, and she leads him down to the small dining table. They sit across from the other, making small talk as Beru pours a special type of tea native to Tatooine. It’s… earthy. But also fiery, in a way. A combination of tea leaves and spices, a type of drink one could only find in a place like this. 

(Anakin used to make fun of him for having an aversion to spicy food. But now, after months of being on Tatooine, Obi-Wan likes to think he’s- he’s used to it). 

As they talk, Obi-Wan takes notice of Beru’s slightly glazed eyes, the dark bags under them. How she leans towards the table, the muffled yawns. 

He makes a mental note to ask for Luke to sleepover again. It’s something Obi-Wan does every once and a while, when both Beru and Owen seem particularly worn down. Though Luke won’t remember it later on, Obi-Wan entertains him by telling grand stories of his past and (non-existent) culture, full of funny noises and big hand gestures. He talks of royalty, and battles, and family. 

Obi-Wan’s glad that at this age, Luke can’t ask questions about the nameless (and they will stay that way, for Obi-Wan’s sake) people in the stories- he’s not sure he wants to dig up the past. Besides, it’s meant to be happy, sharing the tales with someone else for the first time in a while, even if they’re under a year old and likely have no idea what’s going on. 

But still. It brings them both joy, and joy is hard to find. 

“Where is Owen, by the way?” Obi-Wan asks. 

Beru looks up and outside, staring at the sky. “He went to Tosche Station, to get some new parts for the Courier speeder. Luke, bless him, keeps taking out the parts and playing with them- the other day, he accidentally broke some.” 

“Broke them? How did he do that?” Obi-Wan soon realizes the answer, when Beru gives him that _look_ \- a serious one, signaling a shift in conversation. 

_Ah. He used the Force._

“Ben, he gets stronger every day. Just yesterday, he had a temper tantrum and almost toppled over the vaporators in the courtyard. And with the increase in patrols-” Beru stops, the worry for her nephew obviously written on her face. “What if they find him?” 

“They won’t find him, Beru, I promise,” Obi-Wan tries to assure her. 

But Beru, someone who is used to promises not being so binding (she lives on Tatooine, after all, and knows how cruel its people can be) doesn’t look convinced. 

“But if they _do_ , Ben, what’ll we do? Even out here, they’re cracking down- last week, someone in Mos Eisley threw a rock too far, and got arrested before they could prove they’re not even force sensitive. They were eventually let out, but _still_. The Empire’s not taking any chances, not after Vader.” 

_Vader._

Like Beru said, even out here, the Empire is present. And so, it would seem, is its news. Obi-Wan couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , believe it at first. He remembers _that night_ so vividly, and sometimes when he dreams he still hears Anakin’s enraged screams. 

_“I hate you!”_

Anakin had told Obi-Wan he loved him, once, in a way. That he was the closest thing he had to a father. He wonders, sometimes, in the dead of night, where that boy had gone. Had he been too blind to even notice? Was he that bad of a Master, he didn’t even see when his apprentice was losing himself? 

At first, it had felt like a cruel joke. Obi-Wan had lost it all last night- and so had any survivors of the Purge. And though Anakin meant so much to him, Obi-Wan couldn’t deny the evidence laid out in front of him- even when it was the most painful thing he’d ever felt. That moment when their fight ended, and _he_ lay wounded and broken on the embankment, burning alive- that was the moment they were well and truly severed from each other. 

And now, Vader had suddenly murdered Palpatine for- for no reason? And then was arrested? Then- then _nothing_ , when usually the Empire liked to brag about their high-profile captures?

(He has seen many Jedi broadcast over the holonet in the last few months. It hurts every time.)

None of it made _sense_ , and Obi-Wan wonders why the universe feels the need to topple with ( _his_ ) the world so much. He almost tried to open his and Vader’s battered, gaping bond, but then decided otherwise. Vader had made his choice, and it was time Obi-Wan lived with it. 

(How would he have reached out, anyway, he wonders? There wasn’t even a bond at this point- no, rather a frayed string that connects two souls, because if anyone can still be connected after everything, it would be them. 

Obi-Wan both loves and hates it- a part of him doesn’t want to let Anakin go, even now, if there’s even the slightest piece of him left. The other part knows there’s nothing there but a monster.)

Obi-Wan sighs across from Beru, feeling more and more like the old wizard some desert folk say he is. “No good will come from worrying over something that hasn’t happened. If, somehow, it does, we will deal with it.” She nods, collecting herself and standing up. 

“I know you’ll want some time with him,” she says, walking over to Obi-Wan. He outstretches his arms, smiling gently when Luke is placed in them. “I should go check on the vaporators anyway… come get me if you need anything.” 

“And Ben?” Obi-Wan looks up, seeing a glint in his friend’s eye. 

“Stop canceling our hunting trips. Just because you’re no good with a sniper doesn’t mean you can bail on me.” 

He laughs in spite of himself, feeling grateful for her friendship more than ever. Beru somehow has the uncanny ability to pull him out of that void in his head, the one he’s sometimes worried he’ll get lost in. 

Beru leaves, leaving Obi-Wan alone with the baby boy. Luke’s smile is bright as the suns, just like his Force presence. Anytime they’re together, Obi-Wan can’t help but forget the rest of the world. He walks into Luke’s small room, with just a crib and some droid parts repurposed as toys. Obi-Wan sits in the middle of the room, laughing at Luke’s mindless babbles. 

“I hear you don’t sleep through the night, little one,” he murmurs. 

Luke gurgles in response, sticking his hand in his mouth. 

“Do you miss your sister?” Though they only had mere hours together before they were separated, Obi-Wan’s sure the Skywalker twins forged some sort of bond. They’re Skywalkers, after all- it made sense that they’d tie themselves to each other, be connected in ways others wouldn’t be after such a short time.

They’re Skywalkers- it’s in their nature to do the unexpected. 

Luke wriggles, and a small droid part floats in the air. 

Obi-Wan takes that as a yes to his question. 

“I’m sure you’ll see her again soon, Luke. I bet-” he swallows, choking down the memories. “I bet she’ll look like your mother, if you take so much after your father.” Obi-Wan runs his fingers over Luke’s blond wisps, almost the same color as a young Anakin’s. 

“Your mother was a good friend of mine, Luke. She was very brave, and intelligent. And kind; she was very kind. She always saw the good in people.” 

_Even in the end._

_The end._

‘The end’ seems so final, like there’s no way to change what happened, no wiggle room, so to speak. And Obi-Wan knows he can’t change the past, but he knows _that night_ was not the end (even if it feels- felt- like it). 

It was only the beginning of a new, albeit much lonelier, story. 

* * *

  
  


Obi-Wan walks aimlessly throughout the market in Mos Eisley, keeping his head down as he looks at the stalls. He’s intending to find new toys for Luke, who will hopefully stop messing with tools while Beru and Owen are in the middle of using them. 

The market seems sparse today, though it’s more crowded; the result of the stormtroopers posted there. They line the streets, impassive and still, acting as if they’re not even there. Obi-Wan supposes that if a picture was taken of this street, they might blend right in. But in reality, Obi-Wan can feel how on edge they make the inhabitants of Mos Eisley feel- literally. 

There’s tension in the air, carved onto peoples’ faces as they hurriedly walk by. 

He sees children walking just down the road, and for a reason he can’t explain he feels a small sense of dread crawl up his spine. 

Sure enough, one of them, the one who seems to be the leader, struts up to a trooper (with a boldness that reminds him of- of Anakin) and knocks on their helmet, looking back at his friends and laughing. He seems to taunt the trooper, mocking them. 

The quiet, already too-quiet chatter, fades. It’s as if everyone’s watching this happen, and if they weren’t, they are now. For a split second, nobody moves. 

And then the trooper’s gripping the kid by the hair and throwing him on the ground, giving him a kick for good measure. Obi-Wan winces as the trooper yells something at the nearby children, scaring them off. 

One more kick to the child’s stomach. The other Stormtroopers watch, some laughing. 

_Have the Imperials always been this way?_

Obi-Wan knows he can’t help. He’ll endanger himself, and possibly even Luke, Owen, and Beru.

_And yet._

He could be exposed for what he is- a survivor of the Purge, hiding away from the galaxy. 

_And yet._

The child tries to get up. Another trooper knocks him down. They keep laughing. 

Obi-Wan’s supposed to be one of the last Jedi in the galaxy, though right now as he watches a child get beaten and _does nothing_ , he doesn’t feel much like one. 

He takes a step, and then another. And then something cool and sharp is pressing into his neck, a slim body holding him in place against his spine. 

“Trust me, Kenobi,” an all-too-familiar voice purrs. “You don’t want to do that.” 

A part-hysterical, part-tense smirk finds its way onto his face; the same reaction she always drew out of him back then, and apparently still does. 

“Ventress. It's been a while, my darling. I was almost worried you’d forgotten me.” The words come out strained, as Ventress has always been unpredictable. Obi-Wan truly has no idea what her plan is here. He’d heard she became a bounty hunter since they last saw each other- is she going to turn him in for a reward? Blackmail him into doing something for her? 

Obi-Wan’s not surprised to see that nobody around them has any external reaction to this turn of events. It’s Tatooine; someone holding a weapon to another person’s throat is common practice around here. 

Ventress laughs against his back, making chills run up his spine. “Forget you? _Never_.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ventress leads him into a large cantina a few paces away, shushing him whenever he tries to speak. As they walk through the door, nobody really spares them a glance. She lets go of him, now holding his upper arm and pulling him towards the back. The darkness of the bar envelopes them, making Ventress’ pale skin seem almost ethereal, and her eyes glow against the dim lighting. 

Her hair’s longer, silvery, the same color as her skin- but shinier. It’s short, curling behind her ears the slightest bit, with a wave in the front falling in front of her eyes. 

“Kenobi, you walk too slow. Getting tired in old age?” Ventress taunts. 

“It’s been mere months since we saw each other last, if you remember. Or has your memory left you?” 

Ventress half snarls, half chuckles. “You should be worried about your own mind, _dear_ , if you insist on being so _obvious_ right by Stormtroopers.” 

“Obvious? Excuse me?” 

“You always were clueless. You’re too smooth-walking for Tatooine; make yourself more rigid. No, Kenobi, don’t slouch so much! Force, you really are impossible.” Ventress uses her other hand to push his shoulders down ever-so-slightly, causing him to hunch. 

She smirks, predatory and almost calculating. “That’s better. And stop looking around so much. In places like these, the more you look, the more attention you draw. And believe me, you don’t want people paying attention to you.” 

Well, now he’s intrigued. “Why do you know that?” 

Ventress’ jaw clenches as she mutters, eyes down, “None of your business.” He raises an eyebrow at her, and after a moment, she recovers. “But I’m flattered to know you’re so _interested_ in me.” 

Obi-Wan has to admit, even though it’s jarring -he never, ever expected to see anyone from his old life again; and if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have thought it’d be Asajj Ventress, of all people- it’s… nice, to bicker with her like this. It’s familiar, and easy; it’s almost as if nothing’s changed as their snipes flow while they move across the bar. 

Ventress strengthens her grip on his arm, and the two of them pick up their pace. Finally, they reach the back, and Ventress practically shoves Obi-Wan into a chair. She sits across from him, nudging a figure in a hood next to her. 

Obi-Wan reaches out into the Force, trying to get a sense for who this person is. And when he does, multiple things happen at once: 

The Force sings. 

Ventress grins and shakes her head. 

Obi-Wan’s heart feels like it’s either about to stop or burst out of his chest. 

A voice drawls, “Asajj, I told you to be careful with him.” 

_Oh, this is surely another dream_. It- it has to be. It’s not possible. 

Ventress rolls her eyes, bumping her shoulder at the figure in the hood. “I was careful! I had to make it believable. Besides, it was kind of fun scaring him.” 

“We’re not here to scare him!” the person insists. 

Obi-Wan still can’t believe it. He swallows, and almost finds his voice. Meeting Ventress’ gaze, who nods at him, he slowly, quietly dares, 

“Qu-” his voice breaks. He exhales. “Quin?” 

The person pulls their hood down, and suddenly, he’s looking at the face of Quinlan Vos; he has the same yellow stripe across his nose and amused expression in his eyes, things Obi-Wan never thought he’d see again. Except this time, there’s tears accompanying the laughter. 

Quinlan, his old creche-mate and friend, whispers, “The one and only.” 

Obi-Wan feels like he’s floating. Tears start to flow down his face, because Quinlan’s alive, he’s here and he’s alive and Obi-Wan can’t help but think, _if this is a dream, please don’t let me wake up._

Shrouded in darkness, in a dusty old cantina, two Jedi Masters hug each other tightly, a Dathomirian watching them with a fond expression. 

The Force finds that it’s still able to smile, after all the pain. It smiles for its children who have found each other again. 

“How are you- how are you alive? And here? And-” Obi-Wan looks at Ventress. “With her?” 

The other two exchange a look. Quinlan glances back at Obi-Wan, still smiling. “Have you got time for a long story?” 

Obi-Wan glares at him sarcastically. It’s not like they have anywhere else to be. They sit for what must be hours (though it goes by fast) as Quinlan and Ventress tell their story. Some parts Obi-Wan already knows, like how the Council wanted them to team up to kill Count Dooku, and Quin had been posing as a bounty hunter. 

Then, they talk about how the assasination attempt had gone wrong, and they’d barely escaped in time. Ventress, apparently, had gone into hiding, and Quin of course returned to the temple. 

(They didn’t have to say it- and they didn’t, but Obi-Wan could tell they had fallen in love. He didn’t even have to check the Force. When Ventress looked at him, she seemed to soften, something Obi-Wan thought was impossible. She leaned into him as he talked, and apparently it was impossible for Quinlan to not smile when he looked at her.) 

And when they get to the part about Order 66 and the Purge, they pause. Ventress turns so she’s facing Quinlan, placing her hand on his shoulder with _concern_ in her expression. Quinlan grabs onto her hand, looking like that’s the only thing keeping him there. 

Obi-Wan knows how his friend must feel; after all, they both went through it. They both felt that split second when the world stopped, and then everything had come crashing down. The universe had screamed, that day, in every Force-sensitive’s ears. 

Quinlan says hoarsely, “Well, Obi, you already know what happened that day. But after- I hid, and went looking for this one.” He gestures to Ventress, who smiles, though the worry doesn’t leave her eyes. 

“He found me, obviously, and, well, here we are,” Ventress finishes. 

“How did you find _me?”_

Quin smiles. “I’m a great tracker, remember? Took us a while, but look at us! Together again.” 

“And what, exactly, have you been up to?” Obi-Wan asks. 

“We’ve been looking for survivors, Obi,” Quinlan says breathily. “There were so many of us- there’s gotta be at least _some_ out there.” 

“I… I don’t know, Quin. You felt it, that day…” 

“I know, Obi-Wan, I know.” Quinlan stops, running a hand down his face. “But I refuse to believe that we’re the only ones left.” There’s a mix of despair and wistfulness on his face, and Obi-Wan wonders if he’s thinking of Aayla, his padawan. 

“Yoda’s alive,” Obi-Wan blurts out. 

“Yeah?” Quinlan exhales. “That’s good. Not surprised, honestly- he was one of the best.” 

“Yes, he was,” Obi-Wan agrees. 

Neither know what to say after that, both feeling so small in a galaxy so large. For all they know, they truly are the only ones left, remnants of a destroyed Order. 

It’s Ventress who breaks the silence. “How did _you_ survive, Kenobi?” It’s not accusatory, just inquisitive. Quinlan straightens, cocking his head in question. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to tell this story. Not now, not ever. 

There’s a small, barely-there grin on Quin’s face, and though it’s small, it’s teasing. “Hey, did you get help from that commander you used to make googly-eyes at all the time?” 

Obi-Wan’s heart drops. _They must not know about the chips._ He turns, surveying the bar, mostly to hide the tears that spring to his eyes. 

_Fives was right. If only we had listened-_

There’s a Stormtrooper over there, helmet off. It’s a clone. And for one second, one split second, Obi-Wan thinks it might be Cody. His breath catches, and he almost fools himself into thinking he can that scar, the one that had traced down Cody’s face. But it’s not him. It will never be him. Cody is lost, like all the others. 

_“What do you want to do after the war, Cody?”_

_A pause. “Not much use for soldiers when the fighting’s done, General. But-” another pause. Obi-Wan lets himself believe there’s a blush, lets himself get his hopes up._

_“I’ll follow you wherever, Sir, if you’ll have me.”_

_Obi-Wan wishes he was telepathic, having so many words that he can’t bring himself to say. There’s too many risks._

_So, he settles with, “Of course, Cody.”_

“What commander?” Ventress asks. 

He feels numb. 

“You must have seen him. You know, that one who had really good posture, who was practically glued to Obi.” 

Ventress laughs, a lilt in her voice. “Oh yes, now I remember. He seemed very… _dedicated_ to the cause whenever I saw him.” 

Obi-Wan doesn’t react. He can’t. They don’t know, and they’ll never know, because Obi-Wan truly can’t bear talking about this. 

Quinlan picks up on it, because of course he does. “You okay, Obi?” 

Obi-Wan turns back, not able to meet either of their gaze. “No. Quin, there’s something I need to tell you, about the clones.” Quinlan stares, nudging Obi-Wan in the Force. 

Obi-Wan looks up, two tears falling down. And he tells them everything, about Fives and Cody and Order 66. He doesn’t stop, not when Quinlan puts his head in his hands, not when a horrified look falls on Ventress’ face. He doesn’t stop when it hurts- he’s used to the hurt by now. 

Silence falls over them again. 

“You didn’t know?” He says to Ventress, who shakes her head slowly. 

“They- Dooku and Sidious- never told me about their grand plan. I knew they had one, but I was just there to do their dirty work,” she snarls. “I wasn’t important enough to be let in on their schemes.”

She sighs. “But I never- I never would have guessed that they would-” she waves her hand around unceremoniously. 

The three of them stay at that table for a good while longer. Eventually, they start talking, doing their best to avoid heavier topics. It feels good, so good, to be with friends again (though Obi-Wan’s not sure he’d call Ventress a friend just yet). He’s still not sure this is real- he’s spent months trying to get used to the idea of being so alone. 

He’s learned what happens when he gets his hopes up _(heartbreak, loneliness, pain)_ but maybe, just this once, he’ll let himself enjoy this. 

Ventress and Quinlan come back with him to his hut to spend the night- of course Quinlan forgot to reserve a room at an inn. He’s not surprised at Ventress’ teasing jabs at the tidiness of it _(honestly, Kenobi, have you never heard of putting things away after you use them?)_ but honestly, he finds them oddly comforting. 

They stay up for hours, not really talking, but rather just- reveling in each other’s company. 

And then, the next morning, Ventress asks him _that_ question. That one question he had thought she might, but prayed she wouldn’t, ask. 

“Kenobi,” she says while she eats breakfast. “do you know where Skywalker might be? If I remember correctly, wherever you are, he can be found not far behind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blares summertime sadness by lana del ray on repeat* 
> 
> oh by the way i'm going for a more regular updating schedule- will try to update every saturday/sunday (though sometimes chapters might come a bit earlier or later, depending) BUT next chapter is an exception- will be up sooner, around wednesday or thursday! 
> 
> hope you enjoyed! comments give me life <3


	6. In Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi wan: i will push down every emotion until i stop feeling it  
> Me: you’re a pain in the ass
> 
> Sorry if anyone seems ooc. Trying to make them in character while also having the plot happen. also, no, this is not anakin apologism. but it's also not bashing. this is me trying to find the happy medium, and hopefully i'm at least somewhat succeeding. 
> 
> this is chapter 1 of 2 being published this week! sorry it's a day late. next chapter will be up sunday (here's hoping! if i get busy, then monday)

_Do you know where Skywalker might be? If I remember correctly, wherever you are, he can be found not far behind._

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to answer. He can’t. The hut fades away, and suddenly he’s standing on the banks of Mustafar, yelling himself raw while Anakin- Vader- his brother (whoever that might be) slowly burns. 

He doesn’t want to see this. Not when he’s just found Quin again, and he’s finally not alone. He doesn’t want to relive that night, when Padmé had slowly slipped away, at the same time Obi-Wan could feel his bond with Anakin fade-

(The worst part was that it hadn’t snapped, like his bond with Qui-Gon had. No, it had faded, a slow and cruel reminder that Anakin was out there- but he wasn’t, was he? He was dead. Though some part of his brother still lived in the form of Vader, Obi-Wan had finally lost him, like he used to have nightmares about.) 

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, blocking out Ventress and Quinlan's faces. What is he supposed to say? That Anakin turned to the dark side, killed Obi-Wan’s entire Family, and helped turn the Republic into an Empire? Is that what he’s supposed to say? That he still loves Anakin, even though Anakin is a murderer? That he wants to see his brother again but his brother became a monster and even Obi-Wan can’t look past that? 

Is he supposed to tell them how he failed, how he left Anakin alone and didn’t talk to him and didn’t say he loved him until it was much too late? 

Is he supposed to tell them that he doesn’t know how to truly let go? 

He’s honestly considering banging his head against the table until he forgets. He gets rid of that thought as quickly as it came, though the idea of forgetting it all doesn’t sound so bad. 

When did it come to this? 

Obi-Wan opens his eyes again, running a weary hand through his hair. Quinlan and Ventress sit across from him expectantly, eyes narrowed in question and concern. Ventress even looks ashamed, like she’s worried she stepped over the line and brought something painful up. 

It is painful, though not for the reasons she thinks. The way she asked where Anakin was, thoughtful and reminiscent, as if remembering all the times the three of them found themselves at odds on some star destroyer. 

But now, with her shoulders up like she’s wincing, and the sympathy in her eyes, Ventress probably thinks Anakin died in the Purge. 

Maybe, in a way, he did. And that person Obi-Wan fought on Mustafar was the only part that survived, the darkness that had finally won out. Obi-Wan had seen snippets of it during the war, but he always thought that- that-

Well, it doesn’t matter what he used to think, does it? Anakin’s lost, Vader disappeared, and the universe has apparently designated Obi-Wan to deal with it all. 

He realizes he still hasn’t answered. 

“Anakin’s dead,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s said something like that out loud. When Beru and Owen asked who Luke’s father was, and Obi-Wan said it was Owen’s stepbrother, they had exchanged a glance and accepted the child. But they didn’t ask where his parents were. 

At Obi-Wan’s words, it’s like life is sucked out of the room. The walls seem to dull, taking an almost gray hue. Ventress’ eyes widen, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times. Quinlan just looks down, eyes closed. They both can’t seem to believe it. Obi-Wan hadn’t, either. The naive part of him still doesn’t, the part of him that refuses to shut up about Anakin. 

The Force whispers something incoherent in his ear. Whatever it is, it wants him to listen, almost begging him. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t, though. He doesn’t want to hear about its child who he failed so spectacularly. He bats it away with his mind. 

“Skywalker- how can he-” Ventress tries. “But he’s- Dooku said he was the Chosen One. He said that Sidious had plans for him. That he was important. They said he was _special_.” There’s an underlying bitterness there that Obi-Wan picks up on. According to his studies (and personal experiences, though he hasn’t had much of those) the Sith are competitive, and he can see that Ventress has no love for them. 

“I don’t understand, Kenobi. Why would they let him _die?_ And besides, when I fought you both, you were- well, I hate to add to your ego-” _Leave it to Ventress to sneak in a jab at a time like this,_ “you were always unstoppable. The two of you fought so well. And Skywalker, especially, was powerful. He possessed that kind of raw power that legends speak of.” 

“What she means is, Anakin was strong,” Quinlan interjects, ignoring Ventress’ not-quite-genuine scowl. “Could he really be dead?” 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan whispers. 

“You’re sure?” 

Obi-Wan wishes they wouldn’t look at him like that. The sympathy in their eyes is almost unbearable. Everyone knew about Skywalker-and-Kenobi, it seemed. The war was full of people who would spit at their feet and jeer at them, or back away in fear. There were those who would underestimate them, or be surprised at their skills when fighting together.

Anakin always got a kick out of that. 

The two of them were aware they were considered unique among Master-Padawan pairs, that after Anakin’s Knighting they had remained distinctively close. 

_“What a pair we make,” Obi-Wan says, somewhat begrudgingly, as he passes the bottle to Anakin, the two of them sitting in the living room of their shared apartment. “The Negotiator and the Hero With No Fear.”_

_Anakin snorts at the nicknames. “Mine sounds silly. How come yours gets to be fancy?”_

_“Oh, I assure you, yours is a lot better than mine. Mine makes me sound like one of those Senators squabbling in the debate chamber. Yours sounds like something out of a holovid.”_

_Anakin grins, and shrugs his shoulders as if saying, ‘_ of course I’m the holovid, star, Master. It’s the way of the world’. _Obi-Wan can clearly hear him saying those words in his head, almost like they had actually been uttered._

_“Though, I’m not sure how accurate your name is,” Obi-Wan adds._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“You definitely looked fearful when we saw Senator Amidala again all those months ago.”_

_Anakin whips his head up, face red with alarm. When he sees Obi-Wan’s teasing smile, however, he seems to relax the slightest bit._

_“Say hi to Cody for me, Master,” Anakin mumbles, earning a sharp elbow from Obi-Wan, but that doesn’t stop their laughs (though Obi-Wan’s was a bit scandalized)._

“Believe me.” The memories won’t stop, they’re choking him, they’re drowning him, they’re going to bury him alive- “I’m sure.” 

Ventress rests her chin on her palm, glancing up at him every few seconds. Quinlan leans his head against hers, eyes closed, looking like he’s in pain. Nobody talks. Obi-Wan understands why they’re reacting like this; again, if he had heard the news that Anakin was dead, he wouldn’t believe it. 

It always seemed impossible for Anakin to be anything other than alive, well, and strong. Powerful, smart, and brave. The Council used to call him the Chosen One, and they spoke of him bringing balance. 

It was impossible for Anakin to be anything other than himself. At least it felt that way; it felt like he and Obi-wan would forever be the team, that they would go down together or not at all. Until they had found themselves screaming at each other on the bank of a lava river after a battle that shouldn’t have happened at all. 

It wouldn’t have, if Obi-Wan had been there. If he had reached out, if he had kept Sidious away from his padawan, if he had done _more._

A part of his brain objects; it tells him that Anakin made his own choices, something the younger him took to heart after being freed. _He could make his own decisions_. And he did, over and over again. 

(But maybe it’s less painful if Obi-Wan blames himself instead. So he does.) 

“You said you’re looking for survivors. In a few days, there’s someone I’ll take you to meet.” 

Ventress and Quinlan cock their heads in question, but he doesn’t give them any answers. Meeting Luke will come with questions, ones he doesn’t want to answer just yet. So, until then, he has his own plans. 

It’s very fun teaching Ventress how to farm moisture. 

* * *

  
  


About a week later, he’s decided it’s time. The three of them find themselves in Beru and Owen’s courtyard, with the two Lars’ holding baby Luke out cautiously. 

“What is _that_ _?”_ Ventress croaks, shoulders raised tensely. 

“It’s a baby, Asajj,” Quin laughs, walking forwards. Luke, for his part, doesn’t draw back when Quinlan approaches. Rather, he looks interested (well, as interested as babies can look). Slowly, the child wraps a little finger around Quinlan’s, who’s smiling ear to ear. 

“He’s got beautiful eyes,” Quin declares. He pauses, eyes narrowed in thought. 

_Please don’t recognize them,_ Obi-Wan thinks, but he knows it’s too late. Quinlan turns and looks at Obi-Wan questioningly, prodding him in the Force. Obi-Wan sends back feelings of regret and implores Quin to realize they’ll talk _later._

Beru’s looking at each of them in turn, before pausing on Obi-Wan. He understands exactly what she’s thinking, her thoughts displayed all across her face. _Ben, what the hell are you doing?_ Like he knows the answer to that question. 

Owen, with a protective arm around Beru’s shoulders, blurts out, “Sorry, who are you people?” 

“Quinlan Vos. Nice to meet you.” Quin beckons Ventress forwards, who takes an apprehensive step and stops. She’s looking at Luke like he’s a ticking time bomb, and Obi-Wan can’t help but snicker under his breath. 

“And this is Asajj Ventress.” 

Ventress, who has faced down multiple Jedi and won, spent years leading battles, and had to train under Dooku, looks like she’s about to turn tail and run. Her eyes are wide, her hands twisting together. Quinlan grabs her hand, slowly pulling her towards Luke. Ventress keeps walking, though her arms are recoiled. Obi-Wan wonders when the last time she saw a baby was- if ever. 

“Asajj, he’s not going to kill you. He’s a baby. Look, he’s cute!” Quinlan has a wide grin on his face, unlike Ventress, who’s glaring at anyone who meets her eyes. Including Luke. 

Slowly, Ventress reaches out her hand, letting Quinlan guide it towards Luke. Quin carefully places her hand on Luke’s cheek, his eyes flicking between them to make sure she’s okay. She seems to be doing well, seeing as she hasn’t turned away (yet). 

When Quinlan moves his hand away, Ventress starts to pull away, looking unsure of what exactly she’s supposed to be doing. Quin nods encouragingly at her, looking proud as she starts to relax. 

(Obi-Wan’s heart pangs, and he wishes Cody could’ve had the chance to meet Luke.) 

“And how do you two know Ben?” Owen inquires. 

“We know… Ben,” Quinlan starts, looking at Obi-Wan for confirmation at the name. When he gets a nod, he continues: “Because, well, we’re Jedi.” 

Ventress, who’s hand is still on Luke’s cheek, clears her throat and scowls at Quinlan. 

“Oh, well, she’s not a Jedi, but I am. We’re old friends.” 

“Kenobi is not my friend,” Ventress mutters. 

Obi-Wan feigns hurt. “I’m appalled, Ventress. I thought you cared.” He receives the glare-to-end-all-glares in return, and decides it’s a good time to be quiet. 

“I saved Quinlan’s ass near the end of the war. He decided to hang around until I tolerated his presence,” Ventress sniffs, looking down at Luke and actually cracking a smile. 

“That’s not how it went.” 

“Yes it is.” 

“No it isn’t,” Quin insists. Turning back to a very confused-looking Beru and Owen, he raises his hands like he’s going to tell a story. And, since it’s Quinlan, Obi-Wan can’t say he’s surprised when that’s _exactly_ what he does. 

“-And then she had to hide in the Outer Rim, because we just tried to kill this royal Sith Lord, and he’d probably try to track her down. And I went back to the Temple, and after… the Purge, I went to find her, because when we were posing as bounty hunters, we actually made a pretty good team. So _that’s_ actually how it happened.” 

The two Lars’ both blink in disbelief. They look around at the three of them, two Jedi and a former dark acolyte-turned bounty hunter, like they’re insane- and Obi-Wan can’t blame them. They definitely were not expecting _this_ crowd to gather when they woke up this morning. 

Quinlan looks pleased with himself after telling his tale, though Beru and Owen have no idea what to say. Obi-Wan watches Ventress, who is busy observing Luke. She’s got something akin to affection in her eyes as she plays with Luke’s hands. Beru smiles, adjusting Luke’s blankets so Ventress can see him better. 

“His fingers are so _small,_ ” Ventress wonders aloud. “Even the youngest of my sisters weren’t this tiny.” 

“Your sisters?” Obi-Wan asks.

She doesn’t look at him as she replies, “The Nightsisters. Of Dathomir.” Her voice is laced with pain. Her jaw clenched, she adds, “I was part of Mother Talzin’s clan, one of the biggest.” 

_Was._ As in, not anymore. 

To his right, Obi-Wan sees Quinlan shaking his head minutely, a silent message to Obi-Wan that he shouldn’t ask anything more. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have, anyway- he recognized that tone of voice, that quiet intonation of remorse and longing. It’s not something one wants to dig into. 

“Can I hold him?” Ventress suddenly asks, voice considerably lighter. Beru nods, and hands the baby over to Ventress. 

Well, that’s not something Obi-Wan ever expected to see. Asajj Ventress cradling Anakin Skywalker’s son, with a wide smile on her face as she _coos_ at the babbling child. She’s just full of surprises, and Obi-Wan wonders what stories she holds in her heart. Probably a lot. 

“He looks like-” Ventress stops, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expression that says, _oh._

Obi-Wan nods, the tiniest inclination of his head. Ventress looks back down at Luke, a million questions in her eyes. She hands him back to Beru, exchanging a look with Quinlan. 

“Ben,” Quin begins. “I think you have a story you want to tell us?” 

Obi-Wan feels his shoulders fall as he looks down at the tan floors. 

“Yes.” Is he really doing this? “But not now. Later.” 

  
They spend the afternoon at the homestead. Luke ends up making some droid parts float, much to the delight of Quinlan (and Ventress, who has taken an unexpected liking to the boy). The two of them talk with Owen and Beru as well, the latter having found a common interest with Ventress (it’s sniping). 

It’s peaceful, but still, there is a storm coming. For Obi-Wan knows he will have to tell them the truth, sooner or later. And it’s not going to be good.

  
  


* * *

When they get back, Quinlan spots a small, glinting piece of metal messily tucked under a blanket. 

(He realizes it’s a lightsaber. It's not Obi-Wan's, either.

When he picks it up, he sees a blurry, almost charred mess of images flash through his mind. He sees fire, a woman collapsed on the ground, erratic flashes of blue and white sparks-

He hears a voice pleading to turn back. He hears another, and though it’s hard to make out, it sounds like Obi-Wan, stern and hurt. He hears someone’s screams, their shouts of hate and another person’s ones of love and regret. This lightsaber is scarred with the memories.) 

Quinlan turns around, holding Anakin’s lightsaber up in silent question. Obi-Wan runs a tired hand through his hair, gesturing for them to sit.  
  


Quin does, plopping down roughly at Obi-Wan’s dining table. Ventress is on his right, leaning against the table side. They look at Obi-Wan expectantly, who sits across from Quin heavily. 

“So.” Ventress gives him a weighted look. “He’s Skywalker’s kid, isn’t he?” She frames it like a question, but Obi-Wan knows it’s a statement. They already know, they just want confirmation. 

Obi-Wan nods. 

“The Senator, right?” Obi-Wan winces in response to Quinlan’s words. _Did they really all know?_ His friend runs a hand down his face. Ventress places a hand around Quin’s shoulders, silently asking what he’s thinking. 

“I mean, we all… well, a lot of us _knew-”_

“I knew,” Ventress cuts in. Quinlan gives her a questioning look, and she sighs. “Dooku used to talk about it, ever since the beginning. You know why there were so many assassination attempts on Amidala? Because he and Sidious wanted to exploit Skywalker’s weakness. They said it would… _encourage_ him… to…” Her voice turns apprehensive, and she trails off. She meets Obi-Wan’s eyes, and actually looks apologetic. 

“They said it would encourage him to give in to his anger. They saw his love for her, and they wanted to turn it against him. They’d put her in danger so he’d let the darkness in,” Ventress laments. “They specialized in that. Taking love and twisting it into something _evil_.” She squeezes Quin’s shoulder, swaying the smallest bit. 

Obi-Wan turns away. It’s sick, hearing how the Sith were using Anakin all along. So it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. He’d known that; Anakin wouldn’t just turn on a dime. But it’s hard to hear that Dooku- that _Palpatine_ had had his plans for Anakin for so long. 

Was he that blind? 

Quinlan speaks up. “None of us thought Anakin would go that far, honestly. We never even knew they were actually involved- just that they loved each other. But to have a kid…” 

“I know.” Obi-Wan looks back up at them. “I didn’t know until it was too late.” 

“What do you mean too late?” Ventress asks, eyebrow quirked. 

_Anakin had already turned._

“Obi,” Quinlan whispers. “How did Anakin die? You- you don’t have to tell us. But-” 

“But there’s a toddler who has Skywalker’s features, and might be one of the last living Force sensitives in this damned galaxy. What happened to his parents, Kenobi? Because, if he had a kid, I don’t think Skywalker would go down lightly.” Ventress always was one for bluntness. Her voice is as gentle as possible, but Obi-Wan knows they want the truth. 

The galaxy has been through so much change and seen so much unknown lately- these two inhabitants deserve to know why. 

(So does the rest of the world, but the people who deserve an explanation most won’t know; because they’re dead and gone and Obi-Wan misses them.) 

The suns are setting outside, casting an orange-red glow through the windows. 

It reminds him of Mustafar. 

“Anakin-” he can’t do this. He can’t do this. He hates what Anakin did, but he still cares, and he’s a failure and he doesn’t want to put it into words. 

The Force swirls around him, muttering and crying and laughing all at once. 

_You didn’t fail,_ it tells him. 

_I did,_ he says back. _Anakin’s gone._

_Gone is a strong word, you know._

Obi-Wan blocks it out, not in the mood for vague statements that speak of the impossible. He closes his eyes, because if he’s going to talk about this he’s not going to watch their reactions. 

“Anakin is dead. But... _Vader_ is alive,” he begins, letting that statement hang in the air. He ignores their nudges in the Force, asking for more. He’ll get to it. 

“He-” are there words to describe this? He’d been so straightforward with Padmé, and he regrets it. He’d seen the heartbreak and disbelief play out over her face, and wishes he’d been more gentle. 

“Anakin- he always had darkness in him. And- I never found out the full reason- but he- he turned.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath from one of them. Obi-Wan keeps going. 

“He fell. He became Vader,” he says hollowly. “And he joined Palpatine, to become his apprentice.” 

“So,” Quinlan’s voice is coarse, grating, raw. “The attack on the Temple, that was…” 

Obi-Wan grimaces, his face scrunching in pain. 

“He- the younglings, Obi. The _children._ All of them. The Knights, the Masters, the babies... that was his- our- home. He lived there, he trained there, and he- how _could_ he?” 

_I wish I knew. Force, how I wish I knew._

“He killed them all. He destroyed our people, Obi-Wan, and you- you still care about him. I can feel it. You talk about him with regret in your voice!” Quinlan’s voice raises, and Obi-Wan looks up to see him standing over the table. 

“It’s my fault, Quin,” Obi-Wan tries, but Quinlan won’t hear it. 

“He’s a _murderer_.” 

“He’s my padawan-” 

“He _was_. Now he’s the Empire’s little puppet that’s just disappeared and left us here, dealing with the fallout of his actions. He’s probably out there now, plotting how to kriff up the galaxy even more. He’s a monster. How can you still have a bond with him?” 

“I wish I didn’t! I can’t control this! I know what he’s become, Quin, truly.” _Padmé’s choking, collapsing to the ground, and Anakin looks vengeful._ “He’s lost, and I wish I didn’t still care about him, I do. If I could go back and fix all this, I would.” 

“How did you not see it, Obi?” Quinlan sounds so pained, and it’s a sharp reminder that it wasn’t just Obi-Wan who lost his family. Any survivor out there is alone, and scared, and they have nobody there to tell them what they should do. Anakin destroyed so much in so little time, and all he can think is-

_w h y_

“I- I don’t know, Quinlan.” 

Quinlan turns to Ventress, shaking her arm off. “Did you know? Did Dooku tell you?” 

“You know he didn’t, Quin,” she says warningly. 

“Well apparently, everyone’s full of secrets, Asajj.” He looks back at Obi-Wan, angry and hurting. “They’re saying he was a hero, a brave warrior. Anyone who hates the Empire still sees him as the ‘Hero With No Fear’, and you’re just letting them? People are suffering because of his actions, and you do nothing? The Obi-Wan I know would help them however he could, even if it meant risking himself.” 

_The Obi-Wan you knew is dead._

“I have to watch over Luke. And if I didn’t, what would you have me do? Tell the galaxy I’m alive, get myself killed, and along the way crush all their hopes by saying their hero is a monster? I know how you feel, Quinlan. And I _wish_ I could fix this. But I can’t.” 

“You _can_ , and you won’t even try. Hiding out here, isolating yourself, letting the entire galaxy think you’re dead? This is your failure, Obi-Wan. Anakin was your responsibility. You need to fix it.” Quinlan turns on his heel, shutting himself in the bedroom. There’s a loud clatter of something falling, then silence. 

Ventress just stands there, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Are you going to yell at me too?” He asks her warily. 

Instead of answering, she just says quietly, more to herself, “It all makes sense now, why they were so interested in him. Sidious wanted him all along. That was their grand plan. Get the Chosen One as his prize, and everything else would fall into place.” 

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to hear anymore. The walls are bearing down on him, so he simply walks outside. 

He lowers himself onto the sandy dirt in front of the hut, almost forgetting that he’s still considered ‘young’ in most parts. It certainly doesn’t feel like it. 

He reflects on the last few months, feeling more unsure than he’s been in a long time. Luke helps. Beru helps. They’re bright and golden, just like the binary suns above him. They ease the ache in his chest until it’s a dull, almost-unnoticeable throbbing. 

Over the last week, Quinlan’s helped. He’s steady. His voice is familiar and deceptively nonchalant most of the time, lulling Obi-Wan into an almost state of normality when the world bears down on him. It’s unconventional, but it helps. 

(Well, until a few minutes ago. Everything had suddenly _spiraled_ , and Obi-Wan didn’t know how to handle it at all.) 

Surprisingly, even Ventress helps, in her own way. She’s cool and sharp, but when someone gets close enough to dive deeper, there’s a bittersweet warmth in her that she keeps hidden away. Obi-Wan has caught glimpses of it, in rare moments of bonding between them.

_“So, did you like your first day?”_

_“The word ‘first’ implies there will be more. And believe me, Kenobi, I’m never helping you with this stupid ‘farm’” she puts the words in sarcastic air quotes, “ever again.”_

_“You liked it.” He laughs at her sullen expression._

_“My back disagrees,” Ventress sighs, elbowing him. “Stop hogging the alcohol.”_

She’s complicated, he’s found. She’s not necessarily all dark like he might’ve once thought, rather… a maze, twisting and turning, leading to many different ends based on the situation. She can kill someone, or show them the other side of her- the lighter side. 

They’re not friends, but they’re not enemies. 

He watches the dunes, not expecting for anything to actually happen- and nothing does. Just eternal nothingness, the desert unapologetic and unmoving. It’s all sand and cliffs as far as the eye can see. It’s so different from where he grew up, as Coruscant never went to sleep. 

Obi-Wan appreciates the quiet, but sometimes he dreams of it swallowing him whole. 

He’s not sure how long he’s out there, but eventually he hears someone sit next to him, the rocks scraping under their weight. 

He doesn’t feel like reaching out into the Force to see who it is. He doesn’t feel like doing anything. 

Ventress’ voice, both jagged and smooth, cracks through the silence. 

“He lost control, but he means well. It’s Quinlan; sometimes, he goes too far, but he never intended to hurt you. It’s just- he’s in pain, after everything. It’s hard to get over something like that,” she says knowingly. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply. 

But Ventress keeps going. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her brush her silvery hair out of her face. She leans forward, resting her face in her hands, elbows pressed against her knees. 

“I know how it feels.” Her voice is quiet, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

_Really?_ he can’t help but think. _You know what it’s like to stand on ash as your best friend burns alive in front of you, twisted and dark and lost?_

“Not… not _that,_ I mean,” she continues, as if she read his mind. “But I- I know what it’s like to lose people. To watch someone you care about die in front of you, and the world feels like it’s breaking. 

“And you’re not… you’re not sure what to do, because there’s nobody left to guide you. I know what it’s like to be alone.” Ventress’ words are thick with sadness and emotion, and Obi-Wan can almost feel an old wound reopen in the Force. 

“But you’re not alone, Kenobi. And if you think for one minute I’m going to let you keep wallowing, you’re wrong. You’re Obi-Wan kriffing Kenobi. You’re arrogant, and smart, and annoyingly _light._ ” 

Ventress suddenly grabs his chin, making him look at her. Her silver-blue eyes are alight, blazing like the Tatooine heat. 

“I always gave my all when fighting you. And I didn’t do that because you’re someone who just gives up and would let me win. I battled you because you’re challenging. So you have a purpose on this planet. But there are people who need you out there. Just because the Republic’s gone doesn’t erase all that. 

“And remember this, never forget this; If you ever, _ever_ stop fighting for what’s right, I’ll kill you where you stand.” 

“I think you’ve been making that threat for years, you know,” he says hoarsely. 

“And I’ll keep making it.” Giving him the smallest of grins, she gets up, heading back inside. 

Obi-Wan stays there for one more moment, watching the suns set against the dunes. Then, he stands, dusts himself off, and follows her. 

The world isn’t fixed. Nothing’s changed. But somehow, Asajj Ventress has made him feel a little better about it all. 

* * *

The next morning, after spending the night taking turns meditating and sleeping on the couch, Obi-Wan decides to talk to Quin. When he walks in, Ventress steps out of the bedroom, giving Obi-Wan a look that can only mean _don’t mess this up_ along the way. 

Obi-Wan sits next on the bed next to Quinlan, who doesn’t object. He takes that as a good sign. 

He’s not apologizing for Anakin’s actions. He’s definitely not excusing them. But he needs Quinlan to understand. 

“Quin,” he begins, waiting for a reaction. He doesn’t get one, so he decides to go on. “Anakin did what he did. I know that, and I'm not saying we move past it. But he- he was my padawan. I can’t just forget either extreme.” 

“But he-” 

“Quinlan.” he’s about to do something really unfair, but it’s the only way he knows how to convey this. “What if it was Aayla?” 

“She would _never_ ,” Quinlan snaps. He scowls at the ground, refusing to look at Obi-Wan.

“That’s what I thought about Anakin. He was like my brother for so long, Quin- and I hate it, but a part of me still misses him.” 

Quinlan, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, gives him a ghost of a nod. 

“He killed Palpatine, then suddenly disappeared. I want to know why.” 

“What are you saying?” Quinlan asks slowly. 

“You said you were looking for survivors.” 

“You want to find him? Seriously? After everything he did?” 

“I just want answers, Quinlan. Then I’ll come back here and stay with Luke.” When Quin finally glances his way, Obi-Wan meets his gaze. The word _please_ floats between them. 

“If we find him, you have to promise me you won’t let him get away. For all of them.” 

Obi-Wan looks at the ground, closing his eyes. “I promise,” he concedes. 

They spend the rest of the day planning. 

* * *

“You’re going to do _what?”_ Beru practically screeches the next day, and it’s a good thing she’s not holding Luke, for she would’ve surely dropped him. 

“I’ll come right back here afterwards. It won’t take that long,” Obi-Wan assures her. 

“You don’t know that! This is just plain stupid, Ben.” 

“I need answers, Beru,” he says pleadingly, begging his friend to understand. 

“You said you’re here to watch over Luke with us.” she pokes him in the chest. Guilt rises up in him, filling his head. 

But he stands his ground. “You’ll watch over him in my absence. When I get back, I’ll never leave again. I swear it.” 

“Ben-” 

“Beru, I need you and Owen to stay here and take care of him.” 

Beru rises to her full height, which, admittedly, isn’t that tall. Somehow, though, she looks intimidating. “No.” 

_“No?_ _”_ Obi-Wan sputters. 

“No. Luke is your responsibility as much as he is ours. And if you’re leaving, we’re coming with.” 

“Beru, you have a home here. You and Owen can’t just leave-” 

“Not Owen. He hates flying- he’s only left this planet twice, but he said he threw up both times. Luke and I are coming with you.” 

“Beru-” 

She cuts him off again. “Listen to me. I’m a good shot. I can fight. And this child needs you, Ben. He’s connected to that Force thing you’re always talking about, and if worse comes to worse and the Empire finds him, I can’t protect him. But you can.” 

“If we’re going out there, he’ll be in more danger than he is here.” 

“The Empire is everywhere, Ben. Here, there, anywhere. It doesn’t matter where he is, but it does matter whether or not he has you watching over him. So whether you like it or not, I’m coming with you, and you’re going to have to deal with it.” 

Her tone leaves no room for arguments. And he’s seen her fight- Beru is kind, but he’d rather not get on her bad side. 

“Beru,” he grabs her forearm, making her stand still while he speaks. “You know what you’re saying, right? You understand what you’re risking?” 

“I do.” She raises her chin defiantly. “You told me once this child is the only hope for the galaxy. But he’s a baby. He needs all the protection he can get- he’s not going to get that on a farm on Tatooine. And if he’s going to be a hero, he needs someone to show him how to be one.” 

Obi-Wan sighs. She reminds him of Padmé, assured and strong. 

When he looks up again, she’s already across the courtyard, gathering items and shoving them into a bag. She knows she’s won.  
  


They take off a few hours later, the four of them and Luke packed into the cockpit. The stars brighten, elongate, and give way to the blue of hyperspace. 

Two Jedi, a Sith-turned-bounty hunter, a stubborn farmer, and an incredibly Force-sensitive baby. 

This is going to be interesting, he knows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ps this story is now gonna be a series because i have no self control. i'm sorry please don't hate me (i mean, hopefully you like it? So maybe you’ll keep reading? I don’t know i'm really insecure about my writing, i’m still not sure anyone’s actually reading this anyways PEACE i love you all)
> 
> as always, comments are everything 💕


	7. To Light Alone I Bow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall! My wrist is better, and i’m back at it again with this (i got excited, so i wanted to post- ive already started the next part, which will be up soon <3) Thank you for the kindness in the comments on the last chapter, and everyone who wished me well with my wrist, it means a lot every time. Truly, I love you all. 
> 
> Quick updates note: I hate to go back on what i said last chapter, but I’ve realized (the hard way) that updating weekly is not plausible or healthy for me considering everything in my life that keeps me pretty busy (plus, I’m currently trying to work on my mental health). So, I will be updating every few weeks. It’s not ideal, but it’s what works. 
> 
> Now, on with chapter 7!
> 
> TW: depressive thoughts and descriptions of torture. Depressive thoughts start around “they are not necessarily good” and end at “just that”.) . Descriptions of torture start at “later, the guards” and end at “everything hurts”. Please be mindful.

Luminara sits up, heavy and disoriented. There is the smallest sliver of light that pokes through her small cell hole (though she calls it a window to give her a small sense of normality). The light pierces her eyes, causing her body to shield itself from the brightness.

She has not been awakened by that, however. Rather, the nightmares that continuously plague her dreams, her mind crafting visions of what it must have been like for her Family who had been at the Temple that night. 

She hopes it was, at least, quick. She hopes they did not suffer. At least that would have been merciful, in a terrible, terrible way. The rushing of blood to her head had been enough to wake her, something she is grateful for; she desperately needs a break from her dreams. 

Luminara wants nothing more than to get rid of the inky, drowning feeling of _loneliness_ and _suffering_ that coats her body. It is thick, inescapable, pushing her down, down, down. In her heart of hearts, she fears she might never crawl her way back to the light she used to swim in so easily. 

How long has it been since she was captured, she wonders. A question she has no idea how to answer, or even begin solving. The guards will tell her nothing, of course, and she learned a long time ago not to ask. 

_“If you’re so concerned with time, Jedi, then you’d probably like to know how long we’re going to starve you. That’ll teach you not to talk back.”_

Luminara looks down at her arms, skin poking out through holes in her ruined shirt. Scars line her arms, her legs, her chest. The green of her flesh is tinted brown, raised scratches colored an angry shade of deep almost-red. She sighs, running a hand through her cropped hair. 

Reminiscing, she lets herself drift into a heady feeling of remembrance, her cracked soul being filled with memories of her friends. 

Though she can only sense wisps of it, the Force wraps itself around her protectively. She registers a ghostly feel of a hand running down her cheek, arms pulling her close and holding her tight. It reminds her of when she was nothing more than an Initiate, seeking solace in the warmth of her fellow crechémates. 

Oh, how she misses them. 

Then again, however, she supposes she is not completely alone (no matter how much her mind insists she is). Through the slight shards of the Force her bonds allow her to feel, Luminara senses that _other_ presence nearby. The one that had reached out to her, the one belonging to someone who had somehow had the strength to carve the slightest dents in her cuffs. 

The two of them had exchanged some words that day, she recalls. The person had told her nothing of real substance, except that they had once had a Padawan. 

They did not outright say they were a Jedi. Instead, just sharing they had once had an apprentice, as she had. It was… peculiar. Luminara had thought they’d reach out again, seeing as she really couldn’t- her broken cuffs barely allowed her to sense things around her, and nothing more. 

But they hadn’t reached out. Not really. Sometimes, she would get a ping in her head and heart, filling her with the other person’s questions. From what she could make out, they were asking about her health. If she was alive and, for the most part, okay. 

Well. She would be lying if she said she was doing well, wouldn’t she? 

So, every time, Luminara sends back a wave of… emotion. Any that swirl inside her at that moment.

They are not necessarily good. They are more of a strange combination of melancholy and pain, a bittersweet feeling of being so utterly alone yet alive. She is thankful for her life, yes; she is not dead yet, and she doesn’t intend to be soon. 

However, it is not easy to be one of the last of your Family. It is not easy to be the last of anything, Luminara supposes. No, it is hard for anyone to go through such a thing. To live in a world where time passes you by, as everything truly worth living for is gone. 

That feeling that yes, you are alive, so you must make it count- yet when you try to do just that, your body weighs too much to move. When the seconds tick too loudly in your ears, but they are all that is left to listen to. The world is empty, and you are waiting for it to do away with you as it has everything else. 

Luminara wonders when she became so sadly poetic. It is best not to dwell on it, she thinks. There is no reason to dive into something that only brings heartbreak. 

(If only she could figure out how to not do just that.) 

* * *

  
  
  


Later, the guards slide open the rusting door and grin at her evilly. Their very existence makes her skin crawl, and once, she would’ve had the means to fight back.

Now, she just lets them approach, with their electro-staffs. She lets them taunt her as they beat her. She lets them reopen old scars and forge new ones. 

They put her in a containment field, her wrists hanging limply over her head. They will likely bruise later, she thinks. Her feet ache beneath her, rubbing uncomfortably against the metal. 

_“You Jedi thought you were so powerful. Not so powerful now, are ya?”_

The shocks are too much to bear after a while, and Luminara can no longer hold back her screams. They drown out the guards’ sadistic laughter, echoing off the walls and right back into her ears. They drown out the horrid sound of the staff hitting her stomach, the sparks shooting out of where lightning meets skin. 

Her head hangs down as she gasps for air. She looks down at the floor, at her feet, and then suddenly, her head is wrenched back up. 

_“Look at me, you little bitch.”_

And she does, she does, she does. And she glares. Her eyes are steely, drilling mental holes in the guard’s face. The one who is holding her face laughs, loud and almost- carefree- and then he slaps her. Her face swivels with the momentum, her cheek feeling like it’s on fire. 

And before she has time to process it, process the blood filling her mouth and the water in her eyes, lightning is shooting through her body and she can’t help but scream again. 

It feels like forever. On and on they go, her body almost on the brink of giving up. 

Soon, she is too numb to make noise. 

Later, they cast her to the side, leaving her leaning on the cool metal of her cell wall. Luminara does not move while the guards leave with twisted smiles adorning their faces. She listens to their buzzing, dull voices make fun of her weak state, feels their boots prod her limbs before they go. 

As she studies her blood that stains the cell, both old and new, she lets the tears fall. Her fingers trace carvings in the wall, limbs tucked in close. As if that will make her small. Small, small, small enough to leave this place unnoticed. 

In the shadows, Luminara chokes out, “The Force provides us guidance when we have lost our way.” She believes that. She believes that. She _believes_ that.

Her voice is weak, just like her body. Words are like gravel and sand grating along inside her mouth, clawing against her throat. Her eyes droop. Her vision is watery. How does the Force provide guidance when she cannot even feel it? She grabs it, but it evades her time and time again. The cuffs dig into her wrists, carving into them the more she rubs against them. 

Everything _hurts._

  
  


* * *

  
  


The presence in the next cell over enters her head, for the first time in a long time. It seems almost concerned, yet held back. Secretive. Holding back, weary of her. No matter. Her presence, bound as it is, grabs at the other person’s, thankful for any connection at all. 

Luminara replies with feelings of a foggy old hurt, like a healing injury. It is not forgotten, yet there is nothing that can be done. 

(Until the guards come back. Then it starts all over again.) 

In the echoes of the Force, Luminara hears faint words:

_How are you?_

Simple, to the point, yet too broad for her to answer. Where to start? At this moment, there are too many words left unsaid, too detailed of an idea for her to send back in such a thin connection. 

So, Luminara will have to settle for now. 

_What do you think?_

Through the thread, she senses what seems like the non-physical version of a sigh, a scoff, a dry laugh. 

_Did they hurt you?_

Luminara’s breath rasps. Her lungs, her legs, her whole body is so, so heavy. 

_Yes._

A second goes by. Then, the person responds with: _I wish I could leave this place._

 _Yes,_ she replies. _So do I. Though I’m not sure there is a way out._

_I’ll figure it out._

Her fellow prisoner seems to have an aura of… finality, in a sense. They seem so sure. Focused. And yet, she senses a prickliness to them, a layer of sorrow that she can just barely detect in their presence. Somehow, they feel both steadfast and unbalanced at the same time. 

Curious. 

They do not seem inclined to share their identity, something that perplexes Luminara; but she will respect all the same. She would have thought that maybe, they would exchange names, find a strange sort of kinship here. A kindred spirit, feeling united in the sense that they were both here, two Force-sensitives, captured and hidden. But none of that had happened.

She does not know their name, and they do not know hers. But she feels that she can trust them. After all, they had tried to break her handcuffs, with almost no interaction before or after; that had to mean something towards their intentions, right? 

Luminara lifts her head away from the wall, looking around the small cell. She stares at the far corner by the door like someone is really there, almost as if she’s having a true conversation.

 _And how will you do that,_ she almost-challenges. 

A beat. Another. Moment after moment passes, leaving Luminara alone with her thoughts. 

The air is stale. Her mouth tastes bitter, a mix of the faint flavor of metal and borderline starvation. 

_They must be thinking_ , she reasons. _That is why they have gone silent._

Her stomach growls. Her forehead itches, and she can feel the dried blood on her cheek crumble. She resists the urge to scratch at it. 

The mysterious person does not enter her head again. However, their presence still hangs over her cell, like a dark cloud. Luminara cannot reach out to them- she is not strong enough, nor has the means to do so (her cuffs grind against her wrist day after day), so she must wait. _They will come back._

The floor is cold. It makes the hair on her arms stand on end. 

Then, finally, the presence re-enters her mind with a resounding push. It feels erratic almost, scrambling with idea after idea. Yet, there is a center to this storm, hidden away. Sure and true. 

_Are you a Master?_ they suddenly ask, a complete turnaround from their previous topic. 

Luminara blinks, then responds: _Yes. I was. I suppose I still am, depending on how you look at it._

Tentatively, she asks, hoping for companionship, _…Are you?_

 _No,_ the person replies, and something in their answer makes chills shoot up her spine. A single word, cold and clear, slamming against her head. And then the person’s presence retreats from the air around her. 

They do not come back for the rest of the day. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next night, Luminara asks them their name. Despite the bout of coldness yesterday, she is desperate for something, anything, that resembles familiarity. 

_Will you tell me your name? I’ll tell you mine._

When she says this, as quiet as a thought could be, the person draws back, pulling out of her head immediately. As they leave, Luminara reaches; why, she does not know, but she does. She lurches forwards, almost begging for them to stay, to keep up this strange type of conversation they have. She glosses over their presence in the Force, and it’s… it’s… cold. So, so cold. 

For the briefest of seconds, she is thrown into disarray, buried in a web of darkness. Erratic, pulsing strikes of hurt and confusion are thrown at her, and at once, Luminara falls back. She gasps, her eyes blown wide. She places her hand over her chest, feeling her heart pound. 

She has never felt so much darkness. Not like _that._ Whoever this person is, this person who reaches out to her and draws back, says they had a Padawan once - strange, not-clear answer, for the record- has suffered. They have been through pain, so much pain, a dark, all-consuming pain that she could barely stand (for the second she had felt it). 

And the gravity of it all hits her. She did not mean to dig up such pain in them- she’s lonely, and wasn't thinking. Guilt rises in her; she knows not to intrude in someone else’s thoughts. 

Luminara shudders, feeling carved out from the inside. 

She wants to apologize. But she can’t. Because of these disgusting, terrible cuffs that keep her _suppressed._ She wants them gone. They chafe against her wrists, make her feel trapped. A stuffy sort of claustrophobia encases her, and she can’t move, she can’t move or think or breathe or feel and- 

Closing her eyes, she swims into the small puddle of the Force she can reach. She pounds against the wall of the Force-suppressing cuffs, slamming her mental strength at it time after time. She’s had enough of this. 

The bonds push back at her, keeping her locked in this cage of sorts. She keeps trying, focusing all her power at the wall between her and the Force. Over and over, she pushes at it, determined to get rid of these horrid cuffs once and for all. 

Minutes go by. On the outside, Luminara’s body did not give away her current state. But inside, her head was a jumble of thoughts, feelings, power. All of those things were being slammed -without discipline, mind you; when someone reaches a certain point of desperation, it’s all too easy to forget themselves- against an artificial cage that didn’t belong there. 

It doesn’t budge, but she keeps trying. Cracks form, finally, and that alone provides her a brief moment of relief. But it’s not over yet. She’s sweating, she realizes. She might have opened up some cuts again; clenching your face so tightly will do that, she supposes. Her breath is too loud- distracting. But she will not give up. 

“The Force provides us guidance when we have lost our way,” she says into the stale prison air. 

_Focus,_ she tells herself. The cuffs have accumulated more and more dents, even some cracks, from her continued assault against them. A few more pushes, she thinks, will do it. _Please. Please I can’t take this anymore._

Luminara summons everything in her, every ounce of strength she has, and throws it at that mental wall. It bends to her will, evidenced in how the cuffs dent and break under an unseen force in the air. The sound of groaning metal fills her ears, worming into her head, filling her with a giddy sense of almost-victory. 

And _then._ That one last push. And the cuffs- they break. The bend and break and slip right off her arms like water. 

The remains clatter onto the floor, causing Luminara to lift her hands up in wonder. The skin is darkened with bruises, but right now, she can’t bring herself to mind. They’re gone. They’re broken. She can _feel_ again. 

And feel she does. The Force flows into her, and it feels like home. Like taking a deep breath of the freshest air. It sprints through her veins, fills her bones, surrounding her. Luminara smiles for the first time in months, eyes closed in a mix of happiness and shock. She feels so full she might burst; she did not realize just how painful it was without the Force, until it finally came back to her. 

Luminara expands her consciousness, letting it wander past her cell and throughout the prison. To her right, is the now-darkened Signature of her neighbor; she notices, now, that it truly is more dampened than she thought. A smoky feeling of _gray_ clings to them, uninvitingly so. She moves back, not wanting to turn this person away any further. 

She moves throughout the halls, the dull presences of the guards like a warning; they line the walls of the Citadel, like little bees in a hive. She dodges them, wary of them, as if they can see her; sense her. 

She moves on, looking for something, anything. Another Jedi, perhaps? Unfortunately for her, however, this prison is as null as a rock (save for the other prisoner next door). Somehow, she is the only Force-sensitive here. That, in her mind, means one of two things: either 1) any survivors that aren’t here could be in hiding, safe; or 2) there are truly almost no survivors, and so many are dead that there is nobody to imprison. 

How depressing. How lonely. How terrible. 

But then. But then. _But then._

Luminara’s conscious picks something up. 

It’s dim, not as bright as a Jedi might be- or even Ventress, that time Luminara had faced her when escorting Nute Gunray with Ahsoka. 

_Ahsoka… no. Don’t think about that._

The Signature is faint, practically unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it; but it’s definitely Force-sensitive. It’s there. It’s there and Luminara can feel it and it’s light, airy, true. As her own consciousness nears this new one, she senses them suddenly approach her, without warning. It’s untrained, this Signature, which makes sense why it gravitates so eagerly towards her own. 

Luminara’s presence joins with their own, forming a connection. 

_Hello,_ she says. 

The presence draws back in surprise, leaping away for a moment. Luminara wonders if she should have figured out how to give more notice, or if she should just turn back. 

But then. 

_...Hi?_ This person is tentative- Luminara can feel it. Their thoughts are quiet, and even though their presence is shielded, she can sense some of their unease. 

_I’m sorry if I startled you. I was just excited._

_That’s… that’s fine. But... how are you talking to me? If you can call this talking._

Luminara smiles in the dark light of her cell. This person, whoever they are, is unsure of her; yet they are warm-feeling. Approachable. They seem almost kind, from what she can sense, that is. It’s a nice change. 

_I’m Force-sensitive. And so are you._

The way she says this, like an obvious statement, surprises the other person. Their Signature lights up with surprise, almost causing their shields to fall (almost, but not quite. Whoever this person is, they are very good at shielding. Good enough that they were likely taught- but by whom, she doesn't know). 

_I’m_ what? 

_Force-sensitive,_ Luminara says excitedly. _I’m sorry. Did you not know?_

The person goes quiet. Luminara takes that for a no. 

_Force-sensitive,_ the person replies quietly, breathily, like they can’t believe it. _Like a... like a Jedi?_

Luminara shakes her head sadly, though it is in vain- it’s not like anyone can see it. _No, not like a Jedi. It’s too complicated to explain this way, so I’ll settle for the simple version. You can feel the Force, you are connected to it more than others; however, you cannot use it. Not the way a Jedi can. Jedi have a very high count of something called Midichlorians, and that is what gives them their abilities._

 _Oh,_ the person says. _If I’m being honest, I’m kind of glad. That kind of thing got you... killed where I grew up._

Luminara wonders how old this person is. A child? One who knows nothing but the Empire? It could, theoretically, be possible; different species have different growth rates, and besides, it was all too easy for her to lose track of time in this place. 

_By the Empire,_ Luminara asks quietly. 

_No,_ the person replies. _By the... by those who raised me._

Her eyes widen in surprise. _I’m sorry,_ she says, solely because of the heaviness she senses in this person’s heart. 

_S’alright. They can’t really do anything to me now, can they?_

Considering how it went last time she did this, Luminara doubts herself; yet, she can’t help but say: _I am Luminara. If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?_

The person goes quiet, their Signature filling with surprise and confusion (she reasons it’s because of her sudden question). Luminara prays to the Force that they won’t pull away from her- this person is so bright and warm, and having any conversation (with anyone but the guards, of course) brings such indescribable joy. 

And then, they reply: _My name... my name is Echo._

Luminara grins. _It’s very nice to meet you, Echo._

* * *

  
  


The room is dark, save for the blue light coming from the containment field that holds her. Her joints ache, her head hangs towards the ground. Her neck strains in this position, with her chin plopped unceremoniously on her chest. But, uncomfortable as she is, she lacks the strength to lift it up. 

The cuffs they put on her do not suppress the Force. Of course they don’t. He is cruel, and he knows it; he wants her to feel the one she loved and lost, as he stands guard outside. He wants her to feel him every moment of the day, sense how gone he is. 

She hates him. Hates him, hates this ship, hate hate hate. It is not the way she was taught, she knows this; but nobody is there to keep up her teachings and she is just so _scared._ Scared and lonely and filled to the brim with grief. 

The cut on her lip stings. She can feel the blood drip down her face, from both her lip and her bleeding nose; but there is quite literally nothing she can do. 

The soreness in her arms and shoulders is almost too much, sometimes; they are stretched above her, up to her cuffed wrists. Her legs are almost begging to be bent, and try as she might, there is no way to do so. 

She is stuck. She has been for weeks. 

She wonders if anyone is looking for her. 

_He would, if he was still him and not this... shell they’ve turned him into. He would if he was still alive and not gone, gone just like the rest._

Sometimes, she thinks she might forget her own name. In the beginning, she would repeat it to herself, over and over, to remind herself just who she is. But lately, she cannot hear herself think, what with _his_ voice and the roaring in her ears and her screams taking up any empty space in her head. 

“Tell me, this time, or there will be consequences,” he warns, his voice deceptively smooth. “How did you get to Alderaan?” 

“I,” she gasps, as sure as she can sound, “will never tell you _shit.”_ She didn’t use to curse; a habit she’s picked up in this sea of broken hate she’s drowning in. 

“You will tell me, or I’ll,” the new Emperor pauses, a grin evident in his tone, probably while gesturing for one of his minions to do something, “kill him.” 

She whips her head up, wincing at the pain the movement brings. She ignores the throbbing in her neck the best she can. He is there. He stops in the middle of the room, the only sound coming from him being his breathing. 

How she wishes she could hear his voice. Just once. 

Tarkin, that slimy excuse for a man, gestures for the other _him_ (the only one here who truly matters) to take off his helmet. He does, immediately, because now he just follows orders blindly. When they tell him to remove his helmet, he does it. When they tell him to leave the room, he does it. When they tell him to watch as they torture her, he does it without question. He does not fight, or look away, or speak. He just _does._

She glances over his face, tears sliding down her own as she studies him once again. They’ve removed his tattoos, to make him even more like just another number. 

(She always had to convince him he wasn’t just a number. That he was a person, and he deserved things like love and laughter and happiness.)

“No you won’t,” she says bitterly. “You won’t kill him.” Though she addresses the Emperor, she keeps her eyes on _him,_ silently begging for any inkling of his old self to surface. 

Nothing. Again. 

Tarkin smirks. “And why is that?” 

She sneers, dry and tired. “Because he’s your only leverage against me. You’re too smart to not know that.” 

“You sabotage yourself, Master Secura,” Tarkin says. She hates the way he says her name, hates it all the way to her very core. She wishes she would forget her name, right then, so she won’t be affected when Tarkin says it. 

“You admit he does hurt you. You admit that you still care about him, even though he is our loyal soldier. He is not yours anymore, Master Jedi, I hope you know that.” 

“He never was _mine._ He was, _is,_ his own person,” Aayla grinds out. She looks back at _him_ , and softens herself as best she can.

“Please, Bly, if you can hear me, please-” 

“You’re too stubborn for your own good.” Tarkin’s voice is less smooth now, an edge of anger creeping in. “Tell me, how did you survive? How did you get to Alderaan?” 

“Like I said, I will not tell you anything.” Aayla’s heartbeat increases, but she holds steady. “You won’t get any information from me, Tarkin.” 

“I said,” Tarkin starts as he nears, taking her face in his surprisingly strong grip. He squeezes her cheeks so much her jaw will likely bruise in a few hours. “tell me. _How did you survive._ ” 

Aayla, knowing the consequences but refusing to betray those who helped her, stays silent. 

Tarkin sighs after a few seconds, letting her head fall limply. “Pity. I had hoped your attitude would improve today.” 

“You can’t hurt me, Tarkin. Not in any way that matters.” 

“Oh,” he laughs, creepily and much too excitedly for someone like him, “I’m not going to hurt you. I could hurt _him_. Not enough to kill him, but enough for him to suffer as you watch." 

Dread pools in her stomach. _Please,_ she thinks, _please don’t._

“No,” she whispers, knowing it will change nothing. 

“Tell me what I want to know, Master Secura, and nothing has to happen.” She watches him gesture for the guards at the door to move forwards, their electro-staffs in hand. 

Aayla keeps her eyes trained on Bly, searching for something she will not find. His eyes are hollow, showing no emotion. Just compliance. 

She cannot betray any of them. She can’t. Not after everything they did, the lengths they went to, for her. 

“How,” Tarkin’s voice is low and shadowy, “did you survive. Who helped you?” 

Her eyes close tightly. She will not tell. She will not tell. It will only get _him_ , and the others, killed. The only thing she says is, quietly, “Despite the chaos of the moment, I am at peace.” 

“Lineage mantras won’t help you, Secura. Or your beloved trooper.” 

_How did they even find out about us?_ She thinks. They must’ve heard the rumors. 

She looks up again, meeting Bly’s gaze. Rumors have a funny way of exposing truths. 

“I’m feeling generous today. I’ll leave him be- for now.” Tarkin moves closer, inserting himself into her view. “But if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I can’t promise his prolonged perfect health.” 

She couldn’t bear to see him hurt, or killed, because of her. It would likely haunt her for years and years; but it would not destroy her. Attachment is not her way, even now. She loves Bly, dearly, but she will not sacrifice others just to save his life. If he’s even still in there anymore. 

_I’m sorry, Bly. I love you. So much._

She doesn't know what they did to him, to make him like this; she supposes it doesn’t even matter. But she remembers his voice, his eyes, his hands as they caressed her body, even for the brief moments they shared before the world tilted upside-down. 

One moment, he was there, and the next, he was _this._

Tarkin, seeing she will not reply, shakes his head and walks away. Before exiting, however, he murmurs something to the guards. Aayla doesn’t have to hear to know what he said. Her theory is confirmed when the guards approach. 

_She will not tell. She will not tell. She will not tell._

Bly puts his helmet on and turns around to leave, not giving her shaking form a second glance. She watches through her (unconsciously-falling) tears as he walks out. 

_Please don’t leave me,_ she thinks but doesn’t say. Then one electro-staff lights up, hits her stomach, and thoughts of attachment and Bly and Tarkin fade, giving way to the pain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did that (those?). Ahaha. I’d recommend checking the updated tags- I’d love to know what you think ;) 
> 
> (p.s. Anyone have tips for procrastination? Quarantine has made mine worse, I think.)


End file.
